#please read the content warnings!

[vilsoo]

‎ 𝑽𝑰𝑳𝑺𝑶𝑶 𝑷𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑺…

‎ 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 ‎ ‎ 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧… 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫!

‎ 𖤐 ORDER YOUR TICKETS HERE 𖤐 ‎ ֺ [ taglist ]

𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐈𝐒 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐘; 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘… Inspired by Universal Studios Halloween Horror Nights, indulge in sex and horror galore at our premiere Kinktober event, HORRORLAND! Would you dare venture our haunted houses, experience our exhilarating attractions, and uncover the scandalous, deadly mysteries of Horrorland?

fandoms: jujutsu kaisen, spiderman atsv, fnaf, re4, codmw2.

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

ㅤ ↓ 𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 (𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓) ↓

FRIDAYS🩸 we welcome our fellow monster fuckers into this territory! deadly creatures preying on their victims, serving their lustful fantasies with wild, animalistic urges! your arousal and fear may provoke them further, so beware of the woods…

𖤐 𝐎𝐂𝐓 𝟒𝐓𝐇: ❝ 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐎𝐘 ❞ starring GHOST!LEON KENNEDY (re4)

who is this irresistible creature who has an insatiable love for the dead… and ghosts?

⚠︎ CW: mentions of stalking, slight ooc leon, angst, hurt/comfort, haunted vacation home, voyeurism, paranormal activity, sex with a ghost, gentle → rough smut, mirror sex, switchy!leon, 1980s setting.

𖤐 𝐎𝐂𝐓 𝟏𝟖𝐓𝐇: ❝ 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐄 ❞ starring WEREWOLF!MIGUEL O’HARA (atsv)

during the bloodmoon on halloween, your werewolf boyfriend feels a rapacious urge to knock you up.

⚠︎ CW: established relationship, miguel in heat, rough sex, soft sex, marking, biting, possession, breeding, knotting, impregnating, degrading/praising, power struggle, multiple orgasms, 1980s setting.

𖤐 𝐎𝐂𝐓 𝟐𝟓𝐓𝐇: ❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 ❞ starring RYOMEN SUKUNA (jjk)

a camping trip you planned with your friends turns out to be a total nightmare, all caught on camera…

⚠︎ TW: suspense, horror/thriller themes, gruesome murder, gore, ritual sex, demon sex, satanism, sadism, betrayal, teratophilia, size kink, double penetration, plot twist, ib the blair witch project (1999), 1980s setting.

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SATURDAYS 🍷 the depths of hell fall on this dark and gloomy city bound to corruption and sin, known as the devil’s playground! lurking within the streets beholds the prurient reigns of terror that which may also arouse parkland guests…

𖤐 𝐎𝐂𝐓 𝟓𝐓𝐇: ❝ 𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 ❞ starring NANAMI KENTO (jjk)

with you and your boyfriend being a regular at this fancy restaurant, the owner became very fond of you…

⚠︎ TW: cannibalism, chef/restaurant owner nanami, poisoning, murder, infidelity/cheating, eventual smut, kitchen sex, unprotected sex, jealousy, dark obsession, slight stalking, gore, mutilation.

𖤐 𝐎𝐂𝐓 𝟏𝟐𝐓𝐇: ❝ 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃 ❞ starring WILLIAM AFTON (fnaf)

as the new intern and your boss developing a dark obsession over you, he feels the need to corrupt you…

⚠︎ TW: dubcon, mind control (glitchtrap virus), sadism, murder, psychological abuse, manipulation, predator/prey dynamic, implied age gap, degradation, eventual rough smut, mentions of vanny mask.

𖤐 𝐎𝐂𝐓 𝟐𝟔𝐓𝐇: ❝ 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐁𝐑𝐄 ❞ starring CHOSO (jjk)

accidentally bringing a girl back from the dead may have been horrifying, but falling in love with her..?

⚠︎ CW: horror/romcom themes, implied necrophilia (NO intercourse), college au, accidental ritual, romance, mentions of murder, suggestive smut, inspired by lisa frankenstein (2024) and corpse bride (2005).

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FOR OUR HALLOWEEN SPECIAL . . . not only are you immersed into the stories of our attractions, you get the real experience of being a parkland guest having a fun time at Horrorland with friends! but as thrilling as it all sounds, there are many scandals and articles of what really goes down…

𖤐 𝐎𝐂𝐓 𝟑𝟏: ❝ 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓, 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 ��𝐈𝐑𝐋? ❞ HEADLINE: PARKLAND VISITOR CAUGHT HAVING INTERCOURSE WITH A SCARE ACTOR!

flirting has become a common fear response when encountering hot masked scare actors chasing you at halloween events. this scandal covers a parkland visitor fawning over the hot scare actor in the Deathgasm haunted house, König, resulting in them flirting and sneaking off together…

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⚠︎ 𝐁𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬. 𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. ⚠︎

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𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐒𝐎𝐎 © 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. please do not steal my kinktober prompts/works/themes! reposting any of my works outside tumblr that minors can access is strictly prohibited. will be cross posted on my ao3 soon.

[yaekiss]

since your normal requests are still open （＾ω＾） i absolutely NEED to go next door to my darling kaeya!!! he can’t just be so devoted and adoringly obsessive without being rewarded! after that little show of a picture he sent, can’t quite be satisfied until i ravage him the way we know he wants </3

𝑹𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅

꩜ Room Content: Dom! GN! Reader x Yan! Sub! Kaeya, no gendered terms for reader, Kaeya calls you "my heart", unhealthy and obsessive relationship from Kaeya, unhealthy attachment from reader, stalking (from Kaeya), mentions of biting and marking (Kaeya receiving), handjob (Kaeya receiving), lmk if I missed out anything ! ꩜ A/N: This is a (long overdue) sequel to this love letter from a previous event (now closed!) Sigh I really meant to finish this a lot earlier, first it was supposed to be your birthday present then when that date passed by, a v-day gift of sorts,,,,, But it's here now!! Hope it's kind of what you were looking to read @pulpbeing !

The whole walk over to the next room, regardless of how short it was, you were barely cognizant. It was hard to be, when mere minutes ago, it was revealed to you that your lover was some sort of obsessive stalker. (Yet, why does your heart still hammer so hard in your chest?)

Each step draws you closer and closer to Kaeya, and before you even register it, you’ve reached the door to his room. It's the very last one in the hallway. The room opposite his is vacant.

Your blood thrums under the skin of your fingers as you reach out to the smooth cold handle on the door, as if the mere act of crossing that threshold could shatter everything at once.

And to your surprise, the door swings open without any resistance.

The second your foot pads onto the carpet of his room and the door locks behind you, the atmosphere turns electric as a singular starry eye bores into you from where Kaeya is lounging on the bed.

And there he is. Draped in the same lacy white lingerie in the scandalous photograph he sent to you. As if the sight in the picture wasn’t stunning enough already, the sight of your lover before you outright steals the breath from your lungs. 

Adorned in naught by the gauzy fabric, you drag your gaze down from his face, to the crimson-stained trail left from that trickle of wine from his lips. The sheerness of the lingerie leaves nothing to the imagination with the way it snugly hugs his figure. The curve of his chest, his slender yet toned physique, stark white garter belt against the flesh of his thighs.

It's all ridiculously tantalising to you. And he knows it.

“No need to just stand by my door, my heart. You can do more than just gawk at me, you know?” Kaeya all but purrs out to you from where he’s seated, his one eye squinting as he grins.

Somehow, your body has already betrayed your warring thoughts within because when you next blink, you’ve crossed over to the bed, the mattress dipping as you take your seat beside him. His grin grows more blinding at this and he squeezes in closer to you, until your thighs are touching. 

“So the cat’s out of the bag, and now you know I’ve been tailing after you in Fontaine like some lovesick dog off a leash,” he sighs noncommittally, as if he didn’t just admit to stalking you.

He fixes you with a gaze, “How exactly does it make you feel?”

“Is it fear?”

The silence grows when you don’t respond, as if you know in a deep twisted part of your mind, that despite this, Kaeya would never harm a single hair on your head.

“Or is it desire?”

And it’s at this, that your heart thumps. 

The kiss is messy, more tongue and spit than anything else but you can’t be bothered when you’re busy removing the lingerie still on him. He melts into you as your hands wind around his frame, unravelling and undressing him from the flimsy layers of white lace that dare to separate him from you. When you watch the pure white tumble from him, perhaps he’s not the only one whose desires drive them wild.

A breathy moan leaves him as you leave bite mark after bite mark across the expanse of his neck. The feeling of your teeth pressed against his skin, the pressure and force behind it threatening to break past the surface. You’re kind enough to grant him one last hickey prior to pulling back and briefly admiring your handiwork.

Hands trailing down his side, you graze your fingertips over his hips before you settle a palm against his length. Just before he can roll himself up to rut against your hand, your other hand grips the side of his hip, stilling him as a protesting noise slips past his lips.

“You’ll move when I say you can. You can do that for me, yes?” 

Docile, he nods and simply watches on as your hand wraps itself around him. You can tell by the way he’s fisting the bedsheets that he’s holding himself back, resisting the urge to fuck into your hand. Aided by the precum drooling from his tip, you glide your hand slowly up and down, marvelling at the way his breath hitches and eyes screw shut whenever you twist your grip exactly where you know he likes it.

It doesn’t take long before you can tell he’s reaching his limit. His breathing grows clipped and ragged and his groans and whines become increasingly needy. Every time his hips jerk involuntarily, your hand stills, prompting him to plead pitifully for you to continue. He makes quite the sorry sight before you, and your heart twinges with the need to watch him come undone.

Deciding you’ve toyed with him enough for now, you lean in, whispering, “Go on, let me see how you reward yourself.”

His pulse jackrabbits as you lave your tongue along his jugular, panting out broken “thank you”s at your generosity while he frantically chases his release, rutting into your hand. A quick twist and he’s spilling over, crumpling in on himself as he moans unabashedly at the pleasure you’ve shown to him. He has his chin hooking over your shoulder and arms wrapping around you, pulling you into a tight hug whilst riding out his high, his chest heaving as he catches his breath.

Suddenly, your world tilts when Kaeya pulls you down onto the bed, you lie atop him, trapped in his embrace.

And coy as he is, he slithers next to your ear and whispers breathlessly, “It’s alright, you can have your way with me,” you can feel his heart pound from beneath you, your pulse matching his.

“There’s no one next door anyways.”

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

[admirxation]

彡 𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟒𝐭𝐡 - 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐮𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲

♡ 𝐬𝐮𝐦. Floch is obsessed with his ex-girlfriend, the one that should have never got away. (wc: 4.3k)

𝐜𝐰 — afab!reader x yandere!ex-boyfriend!Floch Forster. Dead Dove Do Not Eat (very dark oneshot), 18+ smut mdni, mention of previously established relationship (reader and Floch are exes), kidnapping, non-con and kinda turns into dub-con, obsessive yandere, tying up, groping, nipple play, gunplay (he fucks reader with a gun) -> you've been warned; continue at your own discretion.

You awaken slowly, feeling a cool sweat drag along your brow bone as blurred vision becomes sharpened clarity; your heart drops into the pit of your stomach as you notice the cold surrounding you, that biting chill that seems to seep into your bone marrow as the world felt small, the darkness in the room feeling suffocating as if the walls were slowly tiptoeing into your personal space.

Your wrists ached, feeling a throbbing and tight pain with the coarse road tightly wrapped around you like an animal, cutting into your flesh with every slight movement, a wince echoing the cold walls as you twisted them in hopes you could untie them, but of course, you can’t, they’ve been tightened by someone who knows what they’re doing—like someone who has been practising and planning.

Trying to focus, you blinked, but the room just remained in a shrouded cloud of shadow, illuminated only by a weak, silver light of the moon filtering through a high barred window. You could feel how the dust in the room was almost in thick clouds creeping into your lungs, the scent of dampness on the walls as if the room itself had been left to decay for lifetimes, forgotten by time and the living. You tried to sweep every memory, looking at every detail of what you could see outside the bars, trying to think of where you could be. The only possible answer you could come up to was that you were in a cellar in some abandoned building; you didn’t hear anything outside, not even the sound of a rat or bird, so you had to be somewhere far away from your usual dwellings—whoever put you in here knew what they were doing.

Your heart continued to race with that beating rhythm meeting your eardrums, feeling a weight on your shoulders and chest as the reality of the situation was drawing in; this wasn’t just some nightmare, nightmares make your mind shiver, not your heart. Your eyes just kept their shaky gaze at the unfamiliar room, its decrepit and rotting nature with how the walls seemed so empty, but also seemed like they were growing taller and closer.

As your heart continued to pound at the chamber of your ribcage, a low creaking sound from the far end of the room could be heard, pulling your attention into a snapping neck movement; your pulse quickening as the shadowed figure was looming in over you, its figure detaching itself from ambiguity into familiar likeness was making your blood turn to ice. He steps forward, and your heart lurches in your chest with that sudden recognition of who has seized you.

Floch Forster. Your ex-boyfriend and now captor.

He emerges into the pale light the window only allows, his figure towering above you, with his broad shoulders casting a dark and heavy shadow to take away the only light you could bask in. You noted the mess of his auburn hair, once perhaps kept and handsome in the light of day when you saw him, but now in a messy state with how the moonlight catches the edges like a sharp blade. The look in his eyes was only making this grotesque and rotten room feel more decayed as that smirk that was appearing on his lips sucked all the remaining life out of the room and in your consciousness. They trap you along with the tight ropes bound to your flesh, his gaze is cold and calculating as a predator looks at his prey. Once you might have thought of them as perhaps warm and inviting, how his eyes used to remind you of caramel, not only sending a shiver down your spine and making goosebumps appear in fear's wake.

You swallowed the lump that was formed in your throat, the fast of fear sharp on your tongue the moment your mind helped you reach recognition, only managing to let out a soft and exhausted whisper: “I should have known it would be you…”

Of course, you should have known. Floch and you used to be close, lovers on the brink of a whole new journey as man and wife when you accepted his grand on-one-knee gesture, but the more you kept being with him, noticing how his loyalty—once a trait you admired—was something that was ruining him and you with how you became his possession to keep, not his lover to please. The man would just look at you and he always had to do something, if you were out late by a millisecond he was trying to get in your mind and see if you were plotting something behind him; it became exhausting to love him when he sucked all your character out and left you a walking bag of skin and bones.

He never took the break up well, who does? Whenever people say they broke up on good terms, that’s a load of delusional and mature bullshit people latch onto to believe that of course they were good enough, just not the right time, because no one can ever just admit that the relationship was nothing but utter failure, everyone needs to be the good guy in their own story. But Floch took it further than anyone else could, you name it he did it. Constantly sent letters, waiting at the doorstep with flowers, but one thing he never did was promise to change; in his mind why should he change? Every woman wants a man so loyal they go crazy and only think about them… right?

His lips curled at the edges, a smirk that carried no warmth, only the smug satisfaction of a man who had been planning this moment for far too long.

“Should have known,” he echoed as he mocked your fearful tone as he crossed his arms against his chest, his gaze piercing right through you, “any more theatricals you have planned, sweetheart?”

You opened your mouth to say something, but your voice cracked under the pressure of suppressed terror; your mind running a race with your beating heart wanting to explode out and give you a lucky escape from any torture or suffering he was going to inflict upon you, making every morbid imagination run rampant through your freezing bloodstream.

He had you where he wanted you, cowering for him. His presence oozed arrogance as he crouched down and brought your face level to his, his rough fingertips on your chin as he watched you, up so close like your intimate moments in history; only this time, there’s nothing intimate about this, only fearful as his eyes watched you.

“Should have known you say,” he says softly with a false warmth surrounding you with the voice that used to comfort you, “but you didn’t did you? If you’d known you would have changed the locks to your house now, wouldn’t you?”

Your eyes widened as his words hung in the air like a decaying body on a rope, thick and cloying as the room seemed to grow colder and a phantom feeling tightening around your heart, squeezing and releasing it to make you pant under manipulation.

“What… What do you want?” the question weakly slips past your lips, so pitiful and pathetic; you’re supposed to be a soldier, and now you’re cowering to a man. Oh, how you have hit rock bottom.

“What do I want?” he repeats, having fun with how he had you on puppet strings, eyes raking over your form with possessive hunger that just made your skin crawl. “I want you, silly.” You felt an unbearable crushing of anxiety as he spoke to you like it was a normal day when you two used to sit on the sofa, whispering sweet wantings to one another, one this time, what was once sweet was turned bitter and tainted with the cold invasion against tenderness.

“I’ve always wanted you,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw as if he were claiming a priceless piece of art, marking it as his. “I always proved that to you, with how much I gave you and then… You throw it away just because of a little jealousy. I thought people were supposed to try in relationships… but no, you soon gave up.”

“A little jealousy?” you had an outburst of bewilderment, “you’re seriously downplaying—”

“Oh, how I loved not being able to finish a sentence,” he rolled his eyes in sarcasm and soon shut you up with a cold and metallic feeling in your mouth—a gun.

“Great… Now I can finish,” your eyes continued to widen and your body continued to shake as you felt the ending of life right in front of you, “I want you more than anything. We can work everything out… We were such a lovely couple weren’t we, I know you were scared and got cold feet, but I’ll forgive you, I’ll always forgive you, my sweetheart.” When he had finished whatever theatrical he had been cooking up for however long this plan was brewed up for, the gun soon came out of your mouth, your heart feeling like it had stopped and been restarted by a jolt as he pushed it back into his holder.

“You… You’re… You’re sick,” you managed to spurt out, your voice faint and trembling as if only the shell of your previous self was talking to whoever this man was. This wasn’t Floch, this wasn’t the man you had spent years with and built a love story with; you hated whatever time had done with the Floch you fell in love with, all his warmth and comfort now replaced with cold obsession.

He chuckles with a dangerous and arrogant tone lacing at the end of every inhale, filling the room like a rustle of dead leaves in the graveyard. “Sick?” he echoes in a continuation of his mockery and taunting. “If making you mine again is sick then—” he leans in closer with his lips brushing against your ear “—Then I am extremely sick… For you.” When he whispered that last part, you only felt dread trickle down your spinal cord, feeling like your blood had clotted into a icesickle; and god how you were wishing for that sweet escape than whatever mental torture this was.

His words kept twisting in your gut, so cold and venomous masked in your past lover's voice. Your body kept tensing with panic continuously flowing through you and your mind screaming for a way out, but there was no way out. The room was in the middle of nowhere, the ropes were tight enough to keep a beast chained to its master, and his looming presence was never going to leave you.

“Don’t worry,” he says with a threatening softening to his voice, “I’ll take care of you…soon you’ll see things, my way.”

He steps back, retreating into the shadows from which he came, his presence lingering in the air like the stench of decay. You were alone, bound, and utterly powerless, and terror gnawed at you. But even in the loneliness of the voic, you felt him like an omnipresent being. Floch is watching, no matter where he is, you feel his cold stare… He’s always watching.

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You got no sleep when you watched as sunlight crept into the room, making all the dust and mildew stains of the wall visible; oh how you were missing the ambiguity faint moonlight gave, reality was much worse to a terrorised mind that had no room to be creative. You felt the ringing in your ears, and the heavy pain in your temples as you watched the door, knowing he would appear any moment.

You heard the plethora of footsteps upstairs and even near the door at times; it made your heart jump every time you heard the click of his boots on the floor approach nearer, making your body tense up to pray he wasn’t going to come again, and he didn’t for the whole night, but years with Floch you knew he likes to build adrenaline and anticipation within you, knowing he would save his second appearance for the morning—when you’re too exhausted fighting sleep to use any logic or remember anything.

For a moment, you just sat there still like a doll, it wasn’t like you had anything else to do but be one with the dull throb of pain anchoring you and trying to lull you into a sleep, not one of comfort, but one that would make your time here go by quicker; if your consciousness wasn’t around, you wouldn’t have to remember the nightmare, what was unknown to you was like a sinister and unknowing present. But that lull was soon brought to a halt when you heard the familiarity of his clicking boots against the hard floor.

It’s him again.

His footsteps were deliberate, the sound sending a spike of dread through your chest as you follow the vibration of sound from above you, then down the side, then in front of the door, hearing the metallic clanking of keys before that bone-chilling creaking was heard again. His tall frame was towing over yours, in his hands carrying a plate with chipped porcelain clinking faintly as he crossed the room toward you.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he says in a voice was is too cheerful for comfort, too saccharine for this decrepit place with a smile that just sends a bone chilling effect through your body. He crouches in front of you, setting the plate carefully on the floor in front of you. Your favourite breakfast, but even if the smell of the food makes your stomach growl and beg, you still feel a mix of uneasy discomfort, not wanting to take it; if he could put you in here, god knows what was in the food.

You stared down at it, your stomach twisting in starvation; you wanted to devour every piece, lick the plate and beg for more, but the logical part that guaranteed your survival every time you ventured out the walls was shouting at you not to eat it.

Floch just watched you with that glint in his eye, expectant. “I brought you breakfast. You should eat. You need your strength.” His voice was soft, almost coaxing, but there was always something lingering underneath the surface when he spoke; something cold and something that made you shiver, turning your insides hard and freezing as ice.

You just looked up at him, hatred bubbling in your chest; you hated how fearful you were of him, but you needed to be afraid, you couldn’t play a hero who could get out of any situation, you needed to find more information. You could tell that—despite the insistent with the gun—he wasn’t going to kill you instantly. Sure, he was capable of hurting you, but he had been planning something, and killing you instantly would be a complete waste of time, but you never know, maybe Floch could have been a time waster.

“Look… I already have you down here, what benefit would it give me to drug your food… I’m just keeping my sweetheart alive.”

With a sudden, sharp, and fluid movement, you lashed your foot out, kicking the plate as hard as you could; watching how the plate skidded across the floor, the food splattering in an arc as the plate flipped and crashed into the far dark corner of the room. All that food was not smeared on the filth of the floor, leaving streaks on the floorboards and it just sat there, making Floch’s face darken in the heavy silence after the plate’s rotation.

His neck spikes toward you, a jagged shadow crossing his face as his jaw tightens, his gaze piercing right through you like a bullet, the creases on his face hardening in its sharp appearance as he looks down on you. But there wasn’t anger, he wasn’t going to lash out at you, no, he would punish you in ways that hurt more than an angry outburst.

“Oh, do you really think that was a smart idea, biting the hand that feeds you?” he asks with a low voice, fury and amusement intermixing with one another in a dance hanging on his elongated syllables. “Rookie mistake.”

You shrunk back instinctively, the rope biting into your wrists as you tried to pull away, but of course, there’s nowhere to go. His face comes closer to yours, and you can make out every detail of his skin, every crease, dark circle, blemish and the intricate clouding streak features on the brown circles of his gaze, feeling his warm breath almost suffocating you. You slightly jumped as you felt his hand caress your cheek, that warmth being familiar, but now it’s tainted; it’s no longer the touch you craved after a long day of training, it’s the touch that will forever live in your nightmares as you watch the intensity in his eyes that much makes your stomach congeal in churning.

“Hm, I guess you just need a push to remember how good we are together,” his voice is unnervingly calm, tension coiling and swirling beneath every single word he uttered. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we all need reminders… You’re so forgetful sometimes anyway,” he let out a breath of amusement as his fingers trailed on your jawline, slowly trailing on your neck and collarbone.

Your whole body was screaming at you. Kick him and make a run for it, don’t let him touch you like this, he’s sick and he’ll pay for everything he’s done or whatever he was planning to keep doing, but you just remain there, stuck and still like a deer in headlights—the solider within you now vanished into a cowering girl.

His hands trail on your collarbone, feeling your soft skin underneath his fingertips again; you watch as his pupils swallow the brown colour of his eyes as he intensely stares at your body, letting his fingers take an invitation written by him and move further to the first button in the line of your shirt.

No, he’s not going to… Is he?

All your fears were coming true as you watched how he unbuttoned your shirt, popping each button with just one hand in skill of dexterity but also his craft of timing; he didn’t rip them off, he slowly calculated the pop through each hole in a way that made you pant every time each button came loose until your shirt was wide open, leaving your bra on show as your chest had a quick rise and fall, making his focal point go straight to your breasts.

“Floch… Please… Don’t do this.” You pathetically whimpered out, your gaze started to go misty-eyed.

“Aw, what’s wrong?” that sinister smile would just keep coming back and all you wanted to do was kick it off of him, but your limbs felt like sandbags that were permanently glued to the floor as if Floch commanded it. “You loved it when I used to touch you… Don’t you remember, sweetheart, you used to do crazy when I… did this.” That last word came out like a serpent’s hiss as his fingers plunged into the barrier of lace, feeling his cold digits rub and smooth over your nipple, feeling as your sensitive bud rose and pointed against his fingertips from that familiar touch your body had grown accustomed to over the years; it would always remember his touch, and it wasn’t listening to the rational inner monologue that was running rampant in your psyche, as you hated and wished every curse to fall upon him in karma’s name. But you just remained there, stiff and still.

“Mm.” You quietly reacted as you felt him tweak your perky nipple, making a coil spring into a knot inside your stomach, feeling a rush of heat upon your cheeks.

“Ah, I see… You do remember how much you loved this… You just want to keep acting like you hate it, okay sweetheart, I’ll let you keep up the act… like I’m the bad guy,” that uneasy chuckle escaped his lips as he watched your shaking and anticipating form.

He gave another pinch to your sensitive bud before moving the cups of your bra down and exposing your bare breasts into the cold bite of the room; a hitch in your breath and fogging out into the atmosphere as you felt his slender fingers around the swell of your breasts, making a mist gloss over your eyes as you felt his hands grab and paw at you in a grope. He didn’t look at you, he looked at your body, and you could see every thought and plan that was running and swirling within his inner monologue; watching as he continued to fondle your doughy breasts as the plush of your skin poked out between the gaps of his fingers.

“You’re still so beautiful.”

As he uttered his terrifying compliments you felt his fingers travel down the sides of your waist, and pull down on your pants, watching your legs twitch at the thought that you could maybe escape from him. All he did was look at how they remained glued to the floor.

“You’re not going to kick me… You’re going to lift up and help me take these off… Because you like it,” his fingers continued to pull down from your waistband, “don’t worry sweetheart, no one’s here to judge you… and I for one am certainly not judging… I want you.”

No words from you were needed as your lower half lifted as you scraped your back upwards on the cold wall, letting him drag your pants down from your thighs, past your knees, then flicked off from your ankles; his cock twitched in his pants as he watched your glistening cunt stare back at him once again, that familiar arousal coursing through his body and making that heart pounding sound ring in his ears as blood flowed to between his legs and hardened against his trousers. But he wasn’t going to give the satisfaction your wet and acing hole was anticipating as he watched your inner thighs shake, no, you still needed to be punished after that little ungrateful stunt you pulled. He smirked as he looked at you through his brow, that metallic sound coming back as you heard his gun being pulled out.

“No… Please, I’m sorry I—”

“Shh, shh, shh… I’m not going to hurt you… just trust me,” he elongated every syllable and kept you hanging on each word as you felt the cold metal run down the valley of your breasts, the muzzle at the end of the barrel grazing over your perky blushed nipple. Floch continued to bite his lip, taking in low breaths of amusement as he smirked at your body’s reaction to the cold metal as it started to run down the middle of your stomach, the phallic muzzle then prodding and pocking at your wet lips.

Floch wasn’t trigger happy, he wasn’t going to physically harm you, but what he loved to do was keep you on edge, having the constant question ‘What if he actually does it?’ keep repeating in that mind which he knew was running rampant with every scenario, self curse and insult against him; but your pretty body was still his to play with as he pushed the barrel of his gun inside of you, making your squirm as your tight walls spasmed against the stiff metal. Your lip trembled as your chest rose and fell in a broken shivering pattern in your pants.

“Oh, you’re so beautiful,” he says to your shuddering body and the way you were taking it so well, your body recoiling as you felt a clouded desire permeate throughout your body, pinching your eyes shut as you felt the cold metal be fucked inside of you.

Pure terror washed over you like a tidal wave, and it took all your strength not to sob, but as the gun kept being pushed in and out, in and out, you felt a tortuous desire bubble up inside of you, arousal ignited as you slick coated the gun as you panted for him. Floch—clearly liking the vulnerable position you were in—croached down further to twirl his tongue over your perked-out nipple, taking deep and warm sucks on your sensitive bud as the gun was still held inside you.

“Mmmph… ahh~” You were just a lazy puddle of sounds as you felt the thrusts of terror inside of you, as Floch drew out pain and pleasure as you arched your back further into his mouth, sucking in a sharp gasp as the entire barrel burries itself further inside of you.

“Can you cum for me, sweetheart?” he whispered before rolling his tongue over your chest again, “I wanna see that tight pussy cum for me… Like you used to.”

He gently nippled and sucked harder, hearing the suctioning noises as your pussy sucked in his gun further, feeling shame for getting wet and almost liking the terror that filled you up; he angled it to hit that post inside of you that he learnt very well, looking up and seeing your eyes roll to the back of your head and filling the echoing room with those moans that just made him cum in his pants, feeling his release as he bit down a bit harder of your chest before your clear released escaped out of you and socked his gun.

“Good girl,” he panted out as he moved away from you, slowly removing the gun and leaving your spent hole to want more, to want him. His fingers collected at the bottom of your chin and gently forced it up to who you know: “Now sweetheart, you will get to feel me again, when you have learned not to bite the hand that feeds you… Understood?”

“Understood.”

“There she is, that’s the girl I love.”

taglist: @wintrrxxo @sleazymac-n-cheesy @localkiss

a/n: FLOCH FORSTER CONTENT FINALLY OUT oh my god I've been lowkey obsessing over this man like ooo I love red heads. and before anyone wants to bitch he's a complex and well written character, I don't like everything he does I like his writing, blah blah blah... also if i here bitching f off you were literally warned before the reading content. I am defo gonna be writing more floch and this may or may not be turned into a full series on ao3 in january.

[mendingbone]

i keep seeing people in their late teens/early twenties having a "[X] content intended for younger audiences does not feel satisfying to me anymore but i don't know where to start to branch out into adult fiction" moment and i thought i would give some recommendations for adult fiction for my fellow creepy crawly queer people. all or at least a LOT of it will be on the darker and more fucked up side bc i primarily engage with horror and thriller media personally but feel free to add on with more or recommendations from other genres :)

edit: i am continuing to add to this list so there might be new recs (highlighted in pink) in here every once in a while! also want to add that there's a variety of POC, queer, and disabled authors in here as well, i am also all of the above (asian, aro lesbian, poly, disabled) and tried to incorporate as many wickedly talented, compelling narratives as possible. that's all, happy reading!

A Certain Hunger, Chelsea G. Summers

A Darker Shade of Magic, V. E Schwab*

A Dowry of Blood, S.G Gibson

Animal, Lisa Taddeo*

A Ripple of Power and Promise, Jordan A. Day*

Bunny, Mona Awad*

Children of Blood and Bone, Tomi Adeyemi*

Cursed Bread, Sophie Mackintosh*

Dark Places, Gillian Flynn

Dead Girls Don't Say Sorry, Alex Ritany

Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead, Olga Tokarczuk*

Eileen, Ottessa Moshfegh*

Fruiting Bodies, Kathryn Harlan*

Goddess of Filth, V. Castro*

Gone Girl, Gillian Flynn

House of Leaves, Mark Danielewski

If I Had Your Face, Frances Cha*

Into the Drowning Deep, Mira Grant

Iron Widow, Xiran Jay Zhao

Jackal, Erin E. Adams*

Juniper and Thorn, Ava Reid*

Kindred, Octavia Butler*

Manhunt, Gretchen Felker-Martin*

Mexican Gothic, Silvia Moreno-Garcia

Ninefox Gambit, Yoon Ha Lee*

Rabbits, Terry Miles*

Scorched Grace, Margot Douaihy*

Sharp Objects, Gillian Flynn

She is a Haunting, Trang Thahn Tran

Slewfoot, Brom

Sorrowland, Rivers Soloman

Summer Sons, Lee Mandelo

Supper Club, Lara Williams*

The Centre, Ayesha Manazir Siddiqi*

The Change, Kirsten Miller

The Death of Jane Lawrence, Caitlin Starling*

The Dreamer Trilogy, Maggie Stiefvater

The Haunting of Hill House, Shirley Jackson

The Hollow Places, T. Kingfisher*

The Human Origins of Beatrice Porter, Soraya Palmer*

The Jasmine Throne, Tasha Suri

The Locked Tomb, Tamsyn Muir

The Luminous Dead, Caitlin Starling*

The Red Tree, Caitlin Kiernan*

The Unfamiliar Garden, Benjamin Percy*

Vicious, V. E Shwab

Wake, Siren, Nina MacLaughlin*

We Have Always Lived in the Castle, Shirley Jackson

What Moves the Dead, T. Kingfisher*

[thepersonperson]

The Reproductive Horror of JJK Part 2 (Dealing with Trauma)

Part 1

Notes before we start.

1) This analysis deals heavily with topics of nonconsent, grooming, abuse, and reproductive manipulation. Please proceed with caution.

2) This post was inspired by @hermitw and @tangsakura

3) Read the light novels. They are the equivalent of Bleach's CFYOW for JJK. There is a fan translation (Book 1 & Book 2), but I will be citing the official translations from my own copies.

4) I will be mainly using the TCB scans for the manga because of their accessibility. 

5) Written as of JJK 265.

(Click images for captions/citations.)

Preface 

This was written with the assumption you've also read these other analyses:

Thoughts on Sukuna and Kenjaku’s relationship as of JJK 258.

Gojo's You Pronouns (Gojo's Relationship with Toji and Geto)

Please give them a quick glance at least.

...

Some of you may have found it odd that a discussion about bodies being irreversibly changed and used left out Mahito whose ability quite literally irreversibly changes bodies for them to use. That was deliberate. Blame Tumblr’s 30 photo limit.

The previous post was actually about Mahito. 

Mahito

For series that has a power system based on strong negative emotions, it is a bit odd that curses surrounding sexual trauma aren’t ever directly mentioned in this work. You could chalk it up to the series being Shounen and not Seinen. But that is precisely why I think JJK delves into the topic using abstract representations. It allows the topic to be explored in a way that connects well with those who’ve experienced it without being too graphic for the younger audience.

Though Kenjaku is a literal rapist, I argued the methodology and effects behind vessel creation resemble rape. Someone's body belonging to another through force, permanent changes brought about after experiencing immense trauma, being groomed into tolerating it as a natural part of this world…  When I think of a curse equivalent to this, there is no one other than Mahito that fits.

The transfigured humans Mahito creates are through nonconsentual touch that strips them not only of their autonomy, but their clothing as well. These people are in immense pain from the distortion of their bodies and can never be returned to their original state. In this way, transfigured humans can be read as a stand in for victims of sexual assault.

I didn’t propose this idea first. The Tumblr user that inspired this entire analysis, hermitw, did so in this post (please read it, it's very good). This person’s ideas will be reiterated in this discussion and I will expand upon them starting with how poorly other characters react to their Cursed Technique (CT).

Breaking Composure

Mahito sets themself apart from other curses by how they’re able to get under the skin of the most seasoned sorcerers. It’s not because of their words but the transfigured humans.

Nanami is heralded as the no-nonsense man. Nothing gets to him. He is always calm and professional no matter the circumstances. Mahito's first interaction with him immediately throws him off kilter.

We saw how much fun Gojo was having beating Hanami to death and tearing Jogo apart. That stops entirely when the transfigured humans show up. Yuji can see it coming too. This is the first time during the fight that Gojo’s composure visibly breaks. His reaction to Mahito isn’t any better. There are no smiles and he looks to be in shock.

Gojo’s Six Eyes allow him to see Cursed Energy (CE) to the point where he can infer someone’s CT at a glance. When he sees those transfigured humans, he’s probably seeing the extent of their pain in how the CE controls their souls.

I also want to point out that sexual harassment on trains is such a massive problem in Japan that they have special cars for women. There’s something to be said here about a train full of people that can represent victims of sexual assault.

This visceral disgust when it comes to Mahito isn’t limited to the protagonists either—the main antagonist, Sukuna, finds them to be repulsive after a few interactions. In this instance, Mahito's touching of Sukuna's soul is straight up compared to a patron harassing a hostess.

Just like Gojo, Sukuna goes from having fun to having a really bad time in an instant.

I bring their reactions to Mahito up because there is something off about it. These are all characters that hardly balk at the gore and death brought about by curses. It’s as if Mahito’s brand of violence needs to be categorized as something else.

If Mahito is seen as the embodiment of sexual assault, this is in line with how sexual violence is separated into its own category for treatment and study. When compared to non-sexual violence, the lasting effects are so severe it's not helpful to treat it the same way.

And that’s just what Mahito is. An exceptionally dangerous curse that Jujutsu Society deems needs to be exorcized before it destroys everything because barely anyone can deal with its effects. Likening that damage to something on par with natural disasters is significant.

Mahito as a Natural Disaster

Mahito is the leader of the natural disaster curses despite being born of humans. Hanami, Jogo, and Dagon are forms of wrath spawned from environmental damage brought about by humans. When nature, the ocean, or volcanoes cause mass death, people accept it as a part of living in this world. Sometimes they’ll go as far as to blame others for causing their own demise by living so close to it. 

Mahito doesn’t seem to fit into this category unless you consider how widespread sexual assault is. In the US alone 81% of women and 43% of men reported experiencing some form of sexual harassment and/or assault in their lifetime. These numbers are likely higher due to the underreporting of this crime in general.

In 2021 it was estimated that 101.8 million people were affected by natural disasters or about 1% of the current 7.9 billion population. By 2050 some estimate that 1.2 billion people will be displaced by climate change related natural disasters. That’s about 15% of the current population.

Compared to natural disasters, sexual assault certainly rivals their numbers. But when compared to reporting? It’s under discussed. People chase storms. Natural disasters are tracked extensively by the damage and cost. Nations build infrastructure and plan around them. They’re acknowledged as a problem that is to be dealt with. The victims of sexual assault get no such attention. Warnings against perpetrators are often ignored and the victims are something people would rather keep invisible.

Mahito is a lot like that. Able to go about unnoticed as they stockpile thousands of humans whose bodies disturb those around them. The transfigured humans are targeted first by sorcerers both because it’s easier and because the one creating them seems untouchable.

Mahito’s effectiveness as a curse is their ability to force people to reckon with the worst humanity has to offer. They mirror every little sin and exploitation committed by others, putting it on full display with their manipulation of Junpei.

Just like Mei Mei grooming Ui Ui with inappropriate but gentle touches and praise…

Just like Kenjaku manipulating the vulnerable to gain access to and use their bodies, only to betray them in the end… 

You might call Mahito Kenjaku’s protégé. Really taking after all the worst aspects of that bastard. However, I have read CFYOW. Mahito’s true source of inspiration comes from someone unexpected. 

Allegory in Darkness (JJK Summer of Ashes, Autumn of Dust, Chapter 3)

Before Mahito met Junpei, they met a blind homeless man living under a bridge. Their interactions with this man fundamentally change their view on humans and their approach to breaking them. This short story is one of the most harrowing things I’ve ever read. The quiet horror of JJK is on full display here. I’m not going to summarize all of what happens. Just read this.

This old man is so detached from himself and the world around him that he has essentially become nothing. He exists as a thing. This fascinates Mahito and they decide to observe them, forming a weird sort of companionship with him. Eventually, Mahito learns why the old man is this way.

Immense trauma. Abused and disfigured, the old man gives up on everything and in turn is freed from his suffering. Mahito likens his state to enlightenment Buddhist monks may achieve. 

They’re not wrong about this. Buddhism is centered around the escape from suffering via detachment. But there’s something greatly unsettling about this situation. Unfortunately that never gets addressed, the old man dies and Mahito oversees it.

And what’s this? Right at the end. The old man appreciates Mahito for being there for him. His “enlightened” state is revealed for the facade that it is, causing his soul to waver. He appreciates that his suffering has been acknowledged by another and dies satisfied, leaving Mahito both in a state of mourning and with the perfect way to manipulate someone before they pass.

What a human is to Mahito.

There’s a lot I left out in my summarization of Allegory of Darkness. Mainly the little discussions they had to build a relationship. They’re centered around movies and books because Mahito uses those to understand the humans around them. 

From their studies, they conclude the following. 

Humans are creatures that eat, sleep, and rape while curses are creatures that deceive, cheat, and kill. But I’d like to break down the kanji Mahito uses for their description of humans.

食 (ku) is usually read as "ta" which is in line with regular eating. The "ku" reading is more like devouring and it can be a sexual innuendo.

寝 (ne) means to sleep. And just like in English it can mean to have sex with someone.

犯す (okasu) is the tricky one. It can mean to commit a crime, to break, to violate, to contravene, to deflower, to rape.

Translating this as rape isn’t wrong, but it can overemphasize the sexual connotation. Okasu is more about the nonconsent. Doing something against another’s will. 

However in Mahito’s case, they’re most definitely drawing attention to that. The eat uses the ku reading and is next to sleep with heavy innuendo. Okasu implies an assault on a body that does not belong to them. With this in mind, I think eat would be best localized as consume to get across the greedy inconsideration.

This isn’t coming from nowhere. They watched such a thing occur first hand. That old man I mentioned? He’s killed by two random men on a dare because they see him as something for their consumption. His body doesn’t belong to him. It’s a thing for them to play with.

Kenjaku, a human, reinforces this behavior by having Mahito participate in death womb painting incarnations and other manipulative schemes. And in the end, Kenjaku causes Mahito to fall to the same victimization they learned from humans.

Mahito sees humans, not curses, as creatures that take without consideration. They’re beings that have made the violation of boundaries so commonplace it can be seen as natural. And he’s not really wrong about that in the context of this story. All the stuff I mentioned in the previous post—it’s both right there in your face and nearly invisible. 

The acts themselves are never depicted but always implied. It’s an insidious thing that goes ignored or is outright denied by fans. Anyone who has experienced these things, recognizes it, and points it out will be chastised for reading too much into it.

But can you blame them? The perpetrators are named. They’re goofy and strong and interesting. Their victims are footnotes with little presence and are sometimes outright denied names. And yet they’re always there, just out of sight, suffering in the background.

How horrific that this mirrors a victim’s experience almost identically.

Mahito vs Yuji

The first time Yuji kills a human, it’s as a mercy. At the request of the transfigured human, Yuji puts them out of their misery.

It’s a sin Nanami has been trying to protect Yuji from as a child and Mahito forces it on him with a cruel choice between leaving them to suffer or ending it for them. Yuji chooses to liberate them from suffering.

I think Yuji is able to see the outline of Mahito’s soul, not because of Sukuna, but because he is willing to see Mahito for what they are and face them head on. He doesn’t hide how the transfigured humans or deaths affect him. He cries over them and carries on with that hurt. 

And it’s painful. Yuji vomits and wails on the floor. But he deals with it. Unlike his mentors who bury their emotions and pretend everything is ok.

This is what makes Yuji fundamentally incompatible with Mahito. He is the exception that won’t allow Mahito to go unnoticed and slip away. He does it for their victims and himself. And still Mahito taints him. Yuji starts to see himself as a cog no different than Mahito.

He carries that mentality until he finally confronts Sukuna in JJK 265. Acknowledging why he started thinking that way in the first place, moving past it and onto something better. 

That’s what I love about Yuji the most. To him, anyone’s trauma will never be invisible.

And the horror persists…

Even though Yuji is this tiny beacon of hope in this rather depressing narrative, there’s still so much he can do as a 15 year old boy. The trauma he takes on and deals with is only for those he was witnessed or has been told of. This means a lot of the characters don’t have their grievances addressed in a way that gives me comfort.  

The old man under the bridge may have died satisfied, but I can’t stop thinking about him. His suffering and isolation masked by numbness went on for decades. The happiness he experienced at the end was for seconds. And the worst of the worst, Mahito, was the one to comfort him…

I can't stop thinking about the old man under the bridge.

There’s a lot I left out in my summarization of Allegory in Darkness. I really wanted to include more, but I found it to not fit into the rest of this discussion. Strange little bits of dialogue like these.

When I read these passages, a single question lingers in my mind.  

Why does this man resemble Sukuna? 

I lied. This post is actually about Sukuna.

Let’s go back to that homeless old man under the bridge. Mahito admires him as enlightened, but anyone can his state is mortifying. He has coped with the abuse, disfigurement, and suffering by becoming nothing. No different than a rock. He has no name. He’s not a person. He feels nothing. And the worst thing about it is how that’s technically better than being tormented by those memories.

JJK asks how does one cope with trauma? And repeatedly this question is answered by most characters in one of two ways:

1) You let it consume all that you are.

2) You become nothing as you detach yourself from it entirely.

The old man under the bridge is what Gojo tried to and failed to become. As much as he pretended otherwise, his attachment to grief and love controlled him. Sukuna mocks him for this. Calling him painfully ordinary in the English localization isn't incorrect, but it strips away that religious context. In Japanese this kanji 凡夫 (bonpu) can be read as Unenlightened.

The old man reached enlightenment while coping with his trauma. It worked for so long. But right at the end, when Mahito shows some semblance of care for him, those feelings he thought were shaved off cause him to waver. 

A new question plagues my mind.

What the hell happened to Sukuna? 

It’s presented as a humorous thing. Framing Mahito’s nonconsensual touching of Sukuna’s soul as a handsy patron ignoring the boundaries of a hostess.

Gege sometimes introduces character quirks as something funny before they’re revealed to be induced by trauma. Gojo Satoru is the biggest culprit of this with his sweet tooth and manner of speech and childish behavior that desperately tries to claw back the youth that was stolen from him.

Sukuna has such an averse reaction to having his soul touched by Mahito. He’s wearing women’s clothes when it happens. He’s likened to a hostess for it.

When we consider this and the quiet way misogyny and sexual assault is woven into this story… And how Gojo, the Strongest, was preyed on by older women. And how Yuki escaped having her body being used by someone much older than her by becoming strong. And how Rika, the Queen of Curses, is likely a victim of CSA by someone who was supposed to take care of her. And how Mai, a twin and a victim of CSA, creates a stronger twin by dying when she can no longer cope with her trauma.

I don’t like what this suggests for Sukuna at all.

Sukuna is willing to bond with all the other natural disaster cursed spirits, except Mahito. He himself became something akin to a natural disaster so it makes sense he liked the company of those like them. It’s him rejecting the strongest of the bunch because of how their CT violates others’ bodies is something I cannot overlook.

Jogo’s fire is so kind in comparison. The bodies he burns and the corpses he leaves cannot be defiled by anyone. It’s what would’ve prevented Geto’s body from being stolen. And hey! Sukuna returns the favor, burning Jogo in a way that prevents Kenjaku from absorbing him.

The easiest way for Sukuna to permanently scar and  traumatize Yuji is to inflict sexual violence on him or his loved ones. JJK does not shy away from having rapists like Noaya and Kenjaku do just that. A common complaint from fans is Sukuna not trying to manipulate Yuji into working with him. JJK does not shy away from having groomers like Kenjaku, Mahito, and Mei Mei (and to an extent Tengen) do just that.

Sukuna is strong and clever enough to do these things, but he doesn’t. I think there’s more to this than a disinterest in sex.

Choso’s mother faced ostracization for her unique body that allowed her to give birth to hybrid children. With nowhere left to go she wound up at a temple for sorcerers.  Kenjaku took advantage of her situation and body, partaking in her rape to satiate intellectual curiosity.

Sukuna faced ostracization as a child for his unique body that made him a great sorcerer. Just about everyone who knows him has tried to exploit his abilities for their benefit.

There’s a massive blank in this parallel. What happened to Sukuna growing up to make him this way? Every time I try to fill in that blank with the information we have now, I’m left with something deeply unpleasant. 

When Sukuna has flashbacks, it only ever goes as far back to his time as Yujikuna. He verbally recounts his time in the womb and there’s nothing else. The first time we see Heian Era Sukuna in full, it’s from Yorozu’s memory. And if you recall…this introduction is him being sexually assaulted. 

Sukuna’s fingers are scattered everywhere, fragments of himself are throughout the world and in a little bit of everyone. A curse that cannot be destroyed that only gets stronger with time. He’s something that was repressed despite everyone knowing he exists—a victim of sexual abuse.

Sukuna’s Backstory—Revised

Back when I theorized that Sukuna is an ex-slave, I deliberately withheld references to sexual abuse slaves are often subjected to because I felt it was too heavy for the post.

But seeing others theorize something that severe happened in part because of his CT’s name and spiritual pederasty practices at the time, makes me regret not including it. Please read the post by Tumblr user tangsakura that brought this to my attention.

Pederasty, if you do not know, refers to a boy having a sexual “relationship” with an older man sometimes as a form of “guidance”. The most known form of this originates from ancient Rome and Greece. I put “relationship” and “guidance” in quotations because children cannot consent to or grow from this kind of abuse. 

Such a thing was common, sometimes socially accepted, systemic abuse in the ancient world. (Though a form of it exists to this day.) Japan partook in pederasty, even in certain types of Buddhist temples, prior to the Meiji Restoration in 1868. (Here’s a video source on it. Be warned it's pretty upsetting.)

And in most of these societies that accepted pederasty, a relationship between two men of equal standing was frowned upon or not tolerated at all. The imbalance of power and exploitation of children was the socially acceptable thing. Despite, you know, the resulting trauma and suicides of the victims.

As discussed in the linked video, the children at these temples were seen as pure and therefore closer to Buddha. Since celibacy between human monks was expected, fetishizing these children as gods allowed for the mental gymnastics to justify molesting them. 

That’s not too surprising. Organized religion with massive followings all have it in common—the sexual abuse of minors and tolerating it or covering it up. What’s striking about this abuse is that it was considered important to or even necessary for enlightenment by some sects. Their suffering brought about enlightenment. 

Mini crash course for those not familiar with Buddhism. There are 4 Noble Truths that are foundational to this religion. (Copy and pasted from Wikipedia.)

1) Dukkha: Suffering exists: Life is suffering. Suffering is real and almost universal. Suffering has many causes: loss, sickness, pain, failure, and the impermanence of pleasure.'Dukkha: Suffering exists: Life is suffering. Suffering is real and almost universal. Suffering has many causes: loss, sickness, pain, failure, and the impermanence of pleasure.

2) Samudaya: There is a cause of suffering. Suffering is due to attachment. It is the desire to have and control things. It can take many forms: craving of sensual pleasures; the desire for fame; the desire to avoid unpleasant sensations, like fear, anger or jealousy.

3) Nirodha: There is an end to suffering. Attachment can be overcome. Suffering ceases with the final liberation of Nirvana. The mind experiences complete freedom, liberation and non-attachment. It lets go of any desire or craving.

4) Magga: In order to end suffering, follow the Eightfold Path.

Per the 3rd Noble Truth, enlightenment comes from the end of suffering, not its continuation. The idea that suffering is needed for enlightenment contradicts this Truth. But that’s not surprising either. I was raised Protestant and I’ve got a whole laundry list of how that branch of Christianity seems to have ignored the basic fundamentals of Biblical text. 

What I want to get into is the specific branch of Buddhism Sukuna appears to have been abused under—Tachikawa-ryū. Just as a heads up, information on this sect is limited as this person explains:

“Tachikawa practice became forbidden and the school’s ritual texts were destroyed. As a result, only a few original scriptures and rituals survived the persecution, which makes it very difficult nowadays to fully understand the teachings of the Tachikawa-ryū.”

(The wikipedia page is straight up missing citations so feel free to correct me if I get some stuff wrong.)

The destruction of records sounds exactly like what happened with Kenjaku and the Meiji girl. But the similarities don’t start or end there. This sect is accused of using human and animal skulls for rituals. And if you recall, Sukuna sits on a throne of oxen skulls. Other heretical acts included the consumption of meat, which at the time was forbidden. Another thing Sukuna loves to do. 

But what this sect is most known for are the bizarre sex rituals needed for enlightenment. You know the thing Sukuna explicitly has no interest in. More excerpts about that from the non-wiki source:

“Since the idea of a world, created by the union of male (yang) and female (yin) elements, is the essence of cosmology in Tantrism, sexual union serves as the “real life” version of this dualism. In other words, sex is an effective way to achieve buddhahood in a relatively short amount of time (best case scenario: this life, “becoming a buddha in this very body (即身成仏 sokushin jōbutsu)”). Furthermore, much ink has flown on the description and discussion of a human skull ritual that involved sexual intercourse and the use of seminal and vaginal fluids to create an object of worship.”

This melding of male and female elements is everywhere in JJK. It’s a massive component of the reproductive horror too. Everything with Kenjaku is self explanatory. But Sukuna, who wears women’s clothes, is currently pregnant with the Merger, and has a gender ambiguous servant… He’s a part of this too.

It should also be noted  that Tachikawa-ryū is actually a sub-sect of a sect. It originates from Shingon Buddhism. …Which was first introduced in the Heian Era.

Here are some quotes from the wiki article:

“The essence of Shingon practice is to experience the Dharmakaya, the ultimate reality, by emulating the inner realization of the Dharmakaya through the synchronized meditative ritual use of mantras, mudras (hand gestures) and visualization of mandalas.”

Oh hey that sounds like what Jujutsu Sorcerers do.

“The goma (護摩) fire ritual is an important and recognizable ritual in Shingon. The meaning of goma is to burn the firewood of delusion with the wisdom flame, consuming it completely.”

Oh hey that sounds like Sukuna’s fire CT.

“The most important Shingon mandalas are known as the Mandala of the Two Realms which are: The Womb Realm (Sanskrit: Garbhadhātu; Japanese: 胎蔵界曼荼羅, romanized: Taizōkai) mandala based on the Mahavairocana Sutra and the Diamond Realm (Sanskrit: Vajradhātu; Japanese: 金剛界曼荼羅, romanized: Kongōkai) mandala based on the Vajrasekhara Sutra.”

Oh hey that’s Kenjaku’s Domain.

I wasn’t raised any kind of Buddhist, so there’s probably a lot here I’m missing. My point here is that the symbolism and historical context are in line with Sukuna enduring some pretty horrific abuse as a child. It’s very likely that the way he behaves and thinks is one massive cope to rationalize what happened to him. 

Identity and Trauma

Sukuna is a difficult character to grasp because he’s so unforthcoming in personal information. He’s not once introduced himself by name and reveals fragments about himself in very cryptic ways. Most of what we know about him is from other characters. (Much like how the original writings of Tachikawa-ryū are lost and the remaining info is sourced from outsiders.)

To better understand him, I’ve been working under the assumption that other characters reflect fragments of Sukuna that will eventually fall into place.

Sukuna is like Maki. Consuming his twin to survive and becoming stronger for it.

Sukuna is like Toji. Discriminated against for the way he was born, he becomes strong enough to separate himself from Jujutsu Society only to be dragged back in.

Sukuna is like Geto. Falling from grace and procuring a cult-like following. 

Sukuna is like Todo. He’s completely self-centered and hates taking orders from those weaker than him.

Sukuna is like Mechamaru. Disfigured by birth, longing to connect with others, he finds himself at the end of a manipulative deal that promised him a second life.

Sukuna is like Kenjaku. He sees himself as above others and only wants equals for companionship. Other people are playthings for him to consume to stave off boredom. 

Sukuna is like Mahito. Endlessly curious about the humans he was born of, he consumes their art and lives in an attempt to understand them.

Sukuna is like Yorozu. Obsessively pursuing a single person, trying to teach them love through violence.

Sukuna is like Yuji. Adapting to any situation with battle intuition like no other by understanding his opponent.

Sukuna is Gojo. I call them twin flames since they have the most in common. If you noticed, that homeless old man from Allegory in Darkness resembles Gojo a lot too. For this reason I often use Gojo as a reference to infer how Sukuna is as a character.

Gojo’s trauma that helped him reach his self-proclaimed enlightenment was Toji. And that was just normal assault. But let’s reframe that battle as something a little more abstract…

As a teenager Gojo has his Infinity, a barrier that kept him safe, forcibly penetrated by a much older man. This both kills him and awakens him to immense power that irreversibly changes him. His loved ones can no longer recognize him and his relationships are destroyed by this. His ability to feel pleasure and his sexuality are contorted in ways that others find deeply perverse.

This is the plot of Baby Reindeer—an extremely upsetting semi-autobiographical recounting of how the creator’s sexual trauma ruined his life.

But that’s not how everything is framed at first. The main character, Donny is introduced as a man trying to report his stalker, Martha, to the police. 

Martha recognizes that Donny has been abused. Maybe not in the same way as her, but similar enough to the point where they become toxicly attached to each other. She stalks him and assaults him in what she believes to be acts of love. You both pity her for her circumstances and hate her for the destruction she causes. 

That sounds like Sukuna doesn’t it?

Sukuna saw something in Gojo he can’t recognize in anyone else. And I think it’s much more than the loneliness that comes with being strong—It’s having your body violated and no one recognizing or taking your trauma seriously because you’re supposed to be strong. 

Toji’s failed assassination attempt on Gojo resembles sexual assault in how Gojo reacts to the whole ordeal. He wants some kind of support but pushes everyone away. He craves touch but has a barrier to prevent it running 24/7. He both pities Toji and admires him, fears him and kills anything like him. His sexuality cannot be divorced from this incident, needing a good deal of violence to get off. It’s too similar to how Donny engages his own sexuality after his assault. 

But to my knowledge, Gojo hasn’t been raped. He went through something that resembled it and Sukuna picked up on that. During their fight, Sukuna essentially dealt with that trauma. He became a sort of Toji that satisfied Gojo’s perverse needs while tearing through the very thing that had him targeted in the first place—Infinity.

This is the source suffering Sukuna seemingly liberates Gojo from with extreme violence like some kind of heretical Bodhisattva. There’s also something to be said about him using Mahoraga to do this.The Eight-Handled in its title is a reference to the Eightfold Path that’s to be followed in order to obtain enlightenment.

And they both have this trait in common—using violence to guide others towards enlightenment, a perversion of the 3rd Noble Truth. Gojo just calls it tough love.

(And notice how Megumi recalls both Sukuna and Gojo's words as he grows from a difficult fight.)

I know that Gojo does this because of his trauma with Toji and his own “growth” coming from it. It’s one of Gojo’s many destructive coping mechanisms. He’s stuck in the past trying to relive what was stolen from him. Like I mentioned before, Sukuna calls Gojo unenlightened for this. And if they’re twin flames, I have reason to believe Sukuna is the exact same way.

Sukuna finds Maki to be the most compelling of Gojo’s students. And I think there’s more to this than seeing a  fellow monster in her. She’s what he wants to be.

Not only is Maki free of the sorcery that ruined their lives, she has confronted and dealt with her trauma. She killed the source of her suffering, the Zenins, and has accepted the death of her twin she was so dearly attached to. And unlike her mentors, Maki appears to be emotionally stable because she did this in spite of her trauma, not through it. The sumo guy's compassion is what guides her. In other words, she’s obtained enlightenment outside of violence.

Maki also succeeds where Toji failed. There isn’t anything left that would cause her to waver. She stays true to herself and remains enlightened.

That seems to be a recurring thing—characters deviating from their “enlightened” state through human connections that rouse their unresolved emotional issues and then dying. Toji’s projection of his trauma from Jujutsu Society onto Gojo gets him killed. Kenjaku’s desperation for companionship has Takaba create the perfect opening for Todo and Yuta’s ambush.

Sukuna has started to deviate from himself because of Yuji. And it’s probably because he’s projecting his trauma onto him. If that’s the reason both Toji and Kenjaku were felled, it’ll be the reason for Sukuna’s downfall too. Just like that old man under the bridge.

Sukuna and Yuji

Umineko no Naku Koro ni (When the Seagulls Cry) is a visual novel about a person who is fundamentally misunderstood by those around them. They desperately want to be loved without being perceived, believing themself to be unworthy due to trauma and immutable characteristics given to them at birth. Instead of telling anyone these feelings directly, they play games akin to torture. They torment the ones they love over and over in hopes they'll see through their actions and understand them.

I’ve always compared Sukuna to this character, but for this analysis I’ll be comparing him to another from Umineko—Rosa Ushiromiya.

The youngest of 4 from a rich conservative household, Rosa was subjected to physical and verbal abuse by her father and older siblings. As an adult around them she cowers. She shows her abusers respect they don’t deserve because of her social standing within the family and tolerates their jeering.

But with her little 9 year old daughter who can’t fight back? She beats her the moment she makes any mistake. As she beats this child she screams about how everything is her fault. Rosa projects her financial woes, her childhood abuse, and systemic misogyny all onto this child that never asked to be born. She blames this child for her own shortcomings that keep her tethered to her abusers year after year.

The sad thing is that Rosa doesn’t realize why she’s doing this. She is unable to come to terms with her own trauma and remains stuck in the cycle of abuse as both a victim and a perpetrator, unable to spare her daughter from it. 

Knowing that Sukuna and Yuji are blood uncle and nephew. And knowing that by technicalities, Yuji would be genetically recognized as Sukuna’s son…I see that kind of hurt in their relationship.

Sukuna is a very good liar. Most take him at his word. He says that he hates Yuji for his ideals—how he puts his life on the line in service to others. The things Megumi, Higuruma, and Gojo do as well. And yet Sukuna admires them. Todo sacrifices himself to prop up Yuji and save Hana. Sukuna calls him a true sorcerer for this. It’s not unreasonable to conclude that Sukuna isn’t being honest about why he hates Yuji. 

I think it’s because Yuji is somehow linked to Sukuna’s trauma through no fault of his own. And because Yuji is easier to target, Sukuna uses him as an outlet.

We’ve seen this scenario play out before in JJK. Mai lashes out at Maki instead of Naoya or all the other men like Naobito who enabled or partook in her abuse because it’s the safer thing to do. She doesn’t actually hate Maki. She hates what she has to endure at the Zenin Clan and sees it as inevitable. Fighting back is scary and she really hates doing that. If the manga didn’t make that clear, the CFYOW: Thorny Road at Dawn, Chapter 4: Advancing in the Face of Fear sure does.

Yuji isn’t a cage to Sukuna because he chose to be this way. Kenjaku made him for it and even manipulated him into ingesting the fingers. But you know, Yuji is someone Sukuna can attack without consequence. 

I do not know if Kenjaku is the person who abused Sukuna or if Kenjaku merely resembles the person who abused Sukuna. Kenjaku is older than Sukuna, has a fascination with him, and has manipulated him. There are plenty of other characters that have been traumatized by Kenjaku.

Whatever the true nature of their relationship is, Sukuna is choosing to attack a symptom of his restriction instead of its source. He’s behaving no different than Mai or Rosa which leads me to believe there’s something deeper to his hatred of Yuji.

Yuji’s Role

I think that Yuji is aware something terrible happened to Sukuna. He’s not really sure what. The type of abuse Sukuna likely went through is not common historical knowledge even in Japan.

For the longest time, Yuji regarded Sukuna as a curse and denied him his humanity. But as of JJK 265, Yuji treats Sukuna like a human. He takes him through his memories and plays little games with him. He rejects the cog mentality Mahito groomed him into and says this:

“I could very well be doing the wrong thing here. So I thought I should at least let you see the humanity of someone other than yourself.”

Yuji is admits that his approach to Sukuna may be flawed.

And flawed it is. This entire chapter and offer Yuji makes to Sukuna might be one of the cruelest things he has done so far and he isn’t even aware of it. Yuji is recounting a pleasant childhood full of love and quiet moments. That’s something Sukuna didn’t have because it was taken away for reasons beyond his control.

This accidental cruelty isn’t anything new. It happens right before Junpei dies to an ability that resembles sexual assault. Yuji reaches out to him and asks what’s wrong. He notices something is off and tries to console Junpei through it.

And here he apologizes for saying something so insensitive. He didn’t know, but he had to ask. Sukuna was there to see that.

I think that's what Sukuna wants from him. He wants Yuji to acknowledge he was hurt. To recognize that something happened to him and offer something like he did with Junpei. It’s a bit odd that he humors Yuji’s kindness towards him instead of immediately opening his domain as a counter. This could be an explanation for that.

Yuji hasn’t given Sukuna the same treatment yet. In fact he’s done the exact opposite thing he does with other people. Yuji usually lets his opponent yap at him and meets them as they are. This time, Yuji is the one who does the bulk of the talking and he doesn’t give Sukuna a chance to open up about himself.

That’s not his fault at all. He’s 15 and it’s not his job. The reason he thought Sukuna was a curse for so long is because everyone else told him he wasn’t human and Sukuna never denied it. But just like with Junpei, Yuji did something really insensitive.

Yuji showed Sukuna pity then told him to die or go back into his cage.

People picked up on Yuji being posed like the Fallen Lucifer painting. I think it’s deliberate this offer is being framed as villainous. If Sukuna is outright revealed to be a former slave or a victim of CSA, on reread this would come across as wicked.

It wouldn’t be the first time a scene goes from hype to depressing on reread. I loved watching Yuji and Nobara grow as they killed Eso and Kezichu. After Choso? That fight breaks my heart. Yuji has been manipulated into killing his own brothers and he didn’t even know it.

Yuji’s status as a cage is likely reminiscent of whatever bound Sukuna to the abuse in the first place. And that’s what he’s offering. Death or existing in that state you could argue is much worse than death—a state where his body does not belong to him. Where he is forced to watch a normalish life he can’t have play out for the one tormenting him.

The anger Sukuna displays at Yuji for this is something we’ve only seen him lob towards Mahito. Hell, it’s the same kind of face Yuji makes at Mahito.

I think it’s also telling that Sukuna couldn’t feel anything towards the small things in life. That’s common for anyone who has undergone immense trauma. He was rather cordial about trying this stuff out until Yuji gave his ultimatum.

I’m sure Yuji would give Sukuna more grace if he’d just be honest with his feelings. But this guy is no different than Gojo. He bottles everything up and gets mad at others for not intuiting he’s about to explode.

Strength and Masculinity

Baki the Grappler. This is a manga where men destroy each other’s bodies as a test of strength. It’s poorly written but the art is terrifying and I love it so dearly. Between fights of extreme violence and body horror the characters eat. And that’s it. That’s the manga.

I’ve brought this series up before when discussing how fights can be used as a dialogue between characters. In Baki, many of those combat convos ask the following:

What is strength? What does it mean to be strong? 

What is a man? What does it mean to be a man?

Various characters will answer in their own ways. But I want to focus on the man who seeks to challenge death.

This is a man, who after being raped feels like he’s less of a man. And he thinks that others will see him as less of a man if he ever admits to it. (This happens in Baby Reindeer too.)

In a misogynistic society, women are expected to tolerate sexual assault. Their identity is often linked to experiencing it. Men are expected to be perpetrators of it, not victims. This is why this character calls his rape being shown “the woman within him”.

Echoing this sentiment, Sukuna, in women’s clothing, is quite literally referred to as a girl when Mahito touches him without permission. It’s also treated as a joke. The Baki character doesn’t fare any better in fanspaces. If you mention his name, someone will eventually reply “Yujiro Rapes Mid Diff”. It’s got an abbreviation too: “YRMD”. A little in-joke since the fandom at large refuses to take his assault seriously. 

This is probably why Sukuna refuses to even hint at his abuse. It fundamentally conflicts with his identity. He’s the strongest sorcerer in all of history who would be mocked for being a victim. After all, he did just that to Junpei and torments Yuji over his helplessness. He perpetuates the cycle of shame to protect himself even though he’d benefit more from dismantling it.

And there’s another reason Sukuna wouldn’t be forthcoming with his trauma—predators will take advantage of this vulnerability and revictimize people. It’s often why those who escape abusive relationships find themselves in another. Straight up, that’s why it’s considered safer to not list out your traumas and mental illnesses on dating apps. It’s safer not to trust.

But still, this is something you eventually have to disclose with anyone you’re trying to connect with. Otherwise they won’t understand you or why certain things send you into a panic. And that’s the problem. When is it safe to do that? When can you tell someone of this thing that makes you so vulnerable? It’s not like you can show up to a first date and go, “Hi, I was abused as a child. I need to make sure you’re not going to hurt me. If your voice rises above a certain pitch I’m going to cry on the spot.” If that somehow doesn’t sour the mood, they now have the exact tools to hurt you with. That’s scary as hell.

Sukuna has been destroying absolutely anyone that can have power over him, despite him craving companionship from those of equal strength. Gojo did this same song and dance with anything that resembled Toji until it killed him. It’s a consequence of a coping mechanism this toxic. As long as they are strong, they can’t be hurt like that again. And because they are strong they must endure solitude. The loneliness is worth being safe.

Yuji’s approach to trauma is the polar opposite. He faces it and deals with it. In the same way Mahito forces sorcerers to see the worst of humanity they’ve been overlooking, Yuji is forcing Sukuna to reckon with something he’s been repressing for centuries. This is why Yuji can strike at his soul.

Outliers

This section is for characters I don’t know how to fit into the rest of this analysis and should be considered because of their direct relationships to Sukuna.

Megumi

Sukuna is rather merciful with his kills compared to other characters like Kenjaku. When he’s done playing with someone, they die. He’ll even be respectful about it in his strange little way. Megumi is the sole exception to this, putting him in a very weird spot with the rest of this analysis.

Sukuna forced himself into Megumi’s body through incarnation and has subjugated his soul. And though this has been better for combat as he wanted, Sukuna is noticeably more miserable. Yujikuna before the Culling Games is still the happiest we’ve seen Sukuna. Whether this is from Megumi’s gloominess influencing him or Sukuna no longer having a goal to work towards or Sukuna incidentally retraumatizing himself by repeating the cycle remains to be seen. Maybe it’s all of this at once.

This is probably one of those things that will make more sense to me with more information. For now, I’ll focus on how Megumi’s name means blessing. Sukuna stole Gojo’s Blessing and destroyed it. And if Sukuna is Gojo, he has also destroyed his Blessing.

That kind of makes sense. Mahoraga, a representation of the path to enlightenment, has been destroyed by Sukuna’s actions as Megkuna. Adaptation is something that could’ve kept Sukuna entertained for a very long time since it would evolve with him. It could’ve also killed him and set him free. But he squandered that blessing when used it to satisfy Gojo instead.

Uraume

Uraume is also in a weird spot. They can gauge Sukuna’s mood by his CE and anticipate his needs in an instant. And yet Sukuna doesn’t feel fully understood by them. 

That’s mostly Sukuna’s fault. He didn’t disclose he was a twin to them for over 1,000 years, so it’s unlikely they know the extent of his trauma. However, Uraume dresses like a monk and has the androgynous features considered desirable in the child acolytes that were abused in historical Japan. This could mean they went through something similar to Sukuna and share that connection. It would explain why Sukuna is so gentle towards them compared to other characters. 

In other words, Sukuna should be able to trust them of all people with his trauma. They’re loyal and have always been there for him. So why won’t he do that? 

Looking at Gojo's relationships for an explanation, this kind of reminds me of how Gojo blew off Shoko’s friendship after Geto left. If someone that close to Gojo could betray him, why would Shoko be any different? Plus he’s stronger the more alone he is. And strong people don’t need help with their emotions. (Cue increasingly contradictory and destructive behavior stemming from a combination of trauma and toxic masculinity fuelled by questionable practices based in religion.) 

Yuji differs from Uraume in how he has directly shown Sukuna time and time again that he is a person who can be trusted. Everyone who has admitted their trauma to him has been taken seriously. Sukuna sat there and watched Yuji’s soul never once stray from compassion. He may hate this about him, but Sukuna seems to know he is the safest person to be open with. I think this is why Yuji is being framed as the one to guide Sukuna towards true enlightenment. (Aka addressing your trauma instead of burying it until you no longer understand how it is influencing your actions.)

In conclusion…

I want to emphasize that I am trying to explain why Sukuna is the way he is. To do so I’ve been rather assertive about his trauma despite it remaining unrevealed.

I’m certain something really awful happened to Sukuna. Exactly what I don’t know, but it’s likely something worse than what all the other named characters have experienced. I can say this with relative confidence because of this:

Sukuna himself suggests he has suffered more than Yuji.

Gege has been very careful not to show extreme instances of child abuse outright. If any of this gets confirmed, it’ll likely be vague.

But as it currently stands, I think you can read Sukuna as a victim of CSA. This sort of thing has always been in the manga, it’s just hard to see it.

[sailing-through-hawkins]

✧ written for 'charm' ✧ word count: 548 ✧ rated: T ✧ cw: creepy in the luring kind of way ✧ tags: other!eddie ✧ @steddiemicrofic (≧∇≦)ﾉ⁠✧

The ringing wasn’t that annoying, mostly because it meant his favourite guest had arrived.

“Meow.”

And there he is, with the little charm on his collar. Steve has no idea how it makes a jingling sound but it’s so cute, he doesn’t really care.

“Hello precious,” Steve greets and opens his windows out to let the black cat in. Robin always complains and calls it a hazard, but she also baby-talks to him so Steve doesn’t take it to heart.

But the cat doesn’t come in. He stares at Steve with wide eyes, eyes as red as the jewel of his charm. Huh. He didn’t know cat eyes could be red.

The cat meows again and hops out of the window. Steve takes his coat, locks his front door and steps out. The cat meows again, hopping along the street and Steve follows.

“Meow.”

Steve blinks. The cold air has finally hit his skin and has him shivering except – he’s been cold for a while, hasn’t he? He’s been – he’s been walking for a while, his legs ache so much. Steve looks around, the shadows of the empty road crawling around him, and realizes he must have left town ten minutes ago.

How –

The cat.

The one that always came to their window and asked to be let in, the one he followed all this way.

Where is it?

“Aren’t you a little far from home?”

Steve swivels around, hand grasping out for – for what?

A man smiles at him from the middle of the road. It’s too dark to see his face but he can see his eyes.

Pretty, pretty red.

“What are you doing here, stranger?” the man asks as he holds his hand out, crooking a finger in a ‘come-hither’ kind of way.

Steve stumbles over. “I – I was following this cat, where –“

The man’s (pretty, so pretty) red eyes widen, and he barks out a laugh. Steve smiles with him. “A cat, huh? In this cold? Oh, you poor thing.”

The moment he said that, the chill of the wind bit at Steve’s ears, and he shudders.

“Oh no,” the man tuts. He steps closer to Steve, pulling him in by his waist and adjust his own thick, fur coat around the both of them. “Is that better, sweetheart?”

Steve smiles, and he knows it’s his dopiest one because it’s the one that would always make people laugh and call him an idiot.

The man’s smile drops and his (beautiful, bloody) eyes flare angrily. He holds Steve even closer, even tighter, and Steve feels so warm. “They’re not worth it, sweetheart. We’re here now.”

Nuzzling into his neck, Steve sighs happily.

“That’s it, darlin’,” the man murmurs and he sighs too. “You don’t even remember me, but I’ve been so lonely without you.”

“Without me?” Steve frowns and goes to look at the man, Eddie, in the eye but a cold, clawed hand presses his face back into the warm skin. “Why were you without me?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” Eddie chuckles and Steve hums. “You’ve got me now and I’ve got you. Just like we said.”

Steve peeks over Eddie’s shoulder, where the lights of the town fade into the shadows. Just like they said.

[cosmichorrorlesbians]

more people on here need to read Leech by Hiron Ennes. what if you were stuck in the plot of The Thing while hiding the fact that not only are you the outstretched hand of an authoritarian institution but also a Thing yourself. what if you were experiencing the trauma of not only being forcibly and non-consensually assigned a gender but also the horror of your body rebelling against that imposed stricture without your say or intervention. what if you were both the host and the parasite and the only way you had left to survive was to perpetuate the very violation that was inflicted on you. what if there were ghosts there.

[locuas642]

I dont really mind if people are put off by the first episode's depiction of SA. Or if they think it wasn't done tastefully, or that having SA at all is a big no-no.

But I just saw someone call it "Rape Fetish" and I am like, at least get it right.

[nothingelsematterswrites]

fic: and it seems like there's no way out of this for me

Rating: Mature

Pairing: nil

Warnings: implied/referenced suicidal thoughts, implied/referenced suicide attempt, burns, injuries, crashes, flashbacks and trauma

Summary:

Logan was clearly in trouble. But Karl Reindler knew what it was to burn. And Dr Ian Roberts had made a promise to the memory of Professor Watkins – a promise he intended to keep.

and it seems like there's no way out of this for me @ AO3

Medical car POV of the chillingly lovely i hope it hurts from @struggle-era

Reading the original first will make more sense.

[polyamorousmood]

if any of you have poly fics, drop a link and I'll rb!

[abbacchiosbelt]

will you, won’t you

Pairing: Kamisato Ayato x F!Reader

Notes: Inspired by @cinnamonest​’s Kamisato Ayato/Teacher modern AU. Please read her lovely piece beforehand for further context! This is an alternate take on Ayato inviting his teacher inside at the year-end event. Please heed the warnings before you read this one.

Warnings: Age gap [ Ayato is 18, reader is 20+ ], student/teacher with the student initiating, drunk sex.

CW: Not sfw, non-con, coercion, manipulation, implied blackmail, power imbalance.

WC: 4k

Taglist: @babyybitchhh​, @chelbizzaro​

The sound of your heart beating heavy in your chest nearly drowns out the hum from the celebration happening outside. You shouldn’t have allowed Ayato to lead you away from the crowd, but trying to back away now would cause more problems than it would solve. Seconds pass while you stand, staring blankly until the sound of Ayato repeating your name breaks you out of your trance. The slightest furrow of his brow at your inattention isn’t lost on you, but the microexpression fades so quickly that you think you might have imagined it.

“Go ahead and sit down wherever you like,” Ayato says, gesturing with his arm towards the sitting area. He doesn’t wait for you to move before he continues speaking. “Would you like something to drink? I’ll get you bottled water from the fridge…”

Ayato continues speaking as you choose a place to sit, ignoring the fact that you hadn’t actually responded to his question. His chatty nature was something you had grown used to, but even this was almost too much. 

Ayato can barely contain his excitement - he knows that he’s probably overwhelming you, but he can’t stop himself from carrying on. You’re here, and you actually agreed to step away from the party with him. To have you here, in his own home, was something he had only dreamed about. (Sure, you probably weren’t thinking the same thing he was, but it was a good start to what Ayato had planned for tonight.) You looked so cute sitting on the couch, squirming nervously. If only you knew what you did to him - ah, but there would be time to think about that later. For now, he’d grab the water bottle he’d offered you. 

Ayato opens the fridge and grabs the water before letting out an ‘ah’ of fake surprise, reaching in to grab a bottle of wine that he’d left to chill earlier that day with the intention of getting you to drink some. It was a long shot, but he had to try. He continues talking to distract you as he grabs the two wine glasses he’d stashed in the kitchen area, opening the bottle and pouring it without so much as pausing in order to keep you focused on what he was saying. 

Ayato places the two glasses of wine, the bottled water, and the wine bottle itself on a serving tray before making his way back to you. He places the tray on the table and sits down, making sure to leave a respectable distance for the time being. He watches your expression when you realize that he had brought over wine, your eyebrows furrowing. Before you can protest, he starts speaking.

“I know what you’re thinking, but I insist you have at least one sip. It’s a vintage wine that my parents procured recently on one of their business trips.” Ayato holds one of the glasses toward you. “I’ll only drink a small sip as well. We can toast to the end of the year. It’s good luck, you know?”

You take the glass of wine reluctantly, eyeing Ayato with suspicion. You knew that you shouldn’t take a drink, especially when it was a student. Especially when that student was under the legal drinking age. You’d known teachers who had been fired for less… But Ayato rattled your nerves. His congeniality was wrapped with a commanding aura that made refusing him feel impossible. 

Well. It was only one, tiny drink… Right? Plus, it was expensive - it probably cost more than your entire year’s salary, if you were being honest with yourself. The opportunity to drink such a decadent wine might not ever present itself again. It’s not a good excuse, but it’s one you’re willing to take. 

“Just a small sip.” Your nerves almost make you back down when you see how Ayato’s face lights up, but you ignore the warning bells ringing in your mind in favor of bringing the glass towards your lips and tipping the wine into your mouth - and oh, it’s good. Light and fruity with the slightest hint of spice, and smooth when you swallow. It’s the kind of wine that would be very easy to overindulge in. 

Ayato watches hungrily as you take a sip, his eyes honing in on your lips as you pour the liquid into your mouth. ‘Not properly savored’, he thinks, but the fact that you don’t know the correct way to drink wine is charming to him. He’ll teach you. It really didn’t matter now, though, not when he was witnessing such a lovely sight. He lifts his glass up and swirls the liquid in a circular motion before he takes a sip, savoring the only drop of alcohol he’d planned on consuming tonight. Ayato's cheeks turn pink when he looks over and sees a smile on your face, and fights himself to swallow his sip without choking. The expression on your face was one he hadn’t seen in a long time - natural happiness. Though he wishes it was directed at him, he relishes in it nonetheless.

“I take it that you like it?” Ayato asks. You nod at him, a smile still on your lips, and he feels his face growing warmer. “I’m glad.” To keep you drinking, Ayato had calculated, he’d engage you in menial conversation. He knew from attending many, many work events with his parents that people were wont to use alcohol as a social lubricant, and often took sips of it between conversations to gloss over any awkward silences. Even if you’d only said you’d take one sip, the reality was different. 

Ayato begins by asking you easy questions, like ‘How was your school year?’ and ‘Any plans for the summer?’ It’s easy enough to keep the conversation going despite the middling replies you give him. He has to contain his excitement every time you take a sip of the wine, almost unconsciously, between answering him and listening to his replies. You’d ignored the water bottle completely in favor of the wine, which you were downing quickly. 

The wine hits your system faster than you expect. The ‘one sip’ you’d told yourself you’d stick to turned to two, turned to three, and then turned to the whole glass. Excuses came easier as your mind became pleasantly hazy, and you don’t say anything at all when Ayato refills your empty glass. You still had a hold of yourself, definitely… You could still get up and leave. Ride services were a call away, so there was nothing to worry about.

Ayato’s questions become more personal the drunker you get, though you barely notice. Your answers come easier, the urge to reply with short quips falling away as the wine melts away your inhibitions. You don’t notice, either, that Ayato has inched closer to you. His thigh is pressed against your own, but you only register it as pleasant warmth rather than an uncomfortable invasion of your space.

By the end of your third glass, your head feels light and floaty. Time seems to slow down, and the feeling in your head reminds you of nights spent with friends in your college years. It’s nice, and Ayato’s voice is so soothing… You should really be worried, but maybe you were wrong about him. Maybe he just needed someone to listen all along. 

And then, he asks something odd. It’s not enough to shock you sober, but it makes your eyes widen in surprise.

“Have you ever thought about retiring early?” At the expression on your face, Ayato quickly starts to explain. “You’re still quite young, and you must have other things you want to do. What if you had someone to take care of you so you could settle down?”

What exactly was Ayato asking of you? He couldn’t be serious, could he? Your train of thought was halted by the fuzziness in your brain, and instead of thinking too seriously about it, you giggle. Ayato’s mouth opens like he wants to say more, but he closes it and merely watches as you fall into a fit of giggles.

“You’re funny, Ayato,” you manage in-between giggles. “That’s sweet. But who would be taking care of me?”

Ayato presses his hand over his mouth and frowns. Did you really not understand? Perhaps he had given you too much alcohol. Things could be salvaged, though - he’d just have to show you. When he drops his hand from his mouth, he leans in and clumsily presses his lips to yours.

You gasp and try to pull back, but Ayato’s arms snake around your waist to hold you in an iron grip. He pulls away and sighs.

“Don’t you understand? I’ll take care of you. Let me show you.” You pull away as far as you can, trying to ignore the unwanted flutter of pleasure from the kiss. It wasn’t even a good kiss, but your drunken brain registered any modicum of pleasure as something worth chasing.

“W-we can’t, Ayato,” The words spill from your mouth, and Ayato huffs, impatient.

“We can,” he states. “You’re not my teacher any longer.” Ayato leans forward and captures your lips again, your brain fizzing out as his tongue swipes at your lips. It’s not awkward any longer, the stolen kiss from earlier simply a fluke. Every logical part in your brain is telling you to pull away, but the part of you that wants to feel good drowns it out, though just barely. Even though your response is delayed, Ayato responds with enthusiasm when he feels you lean into the kiss instead of pulling away again. 

When he breaks the kiss for a second time, his face is flushed. It’s the most undone you’ve ever seen him look. A sudden wave of dizziness hits you and Ayato gives you a sympathetic look, clicking his tongue.

“You’re probably overheating. Let’s get you out of those hot clothes.” His words don’t register until you feel his fingers at the hem of your shirt.

“No, that’s… It’s too much.” You protest. Ayato hums in acknowledgment but presses on. Any squirming you do is nothing compared to his strength. You’re helpless against him as he removes your shirt, neatly folding it before placing it on the edge of the couch. You hate to admit that the cool air against your skin does feel good. No - it shouldn’t, but then Ayato’s cold hands are skimming across your sides and you can’t think—

You should stop him. You really should. But then his hands are pushing your bra up and baring your breasts to him, nipples already hard. The shame you feel is fleeting when Ayato dips his head down and licks a stripe up your neck before he begins to press hurried kisses down your chest.

It feels good. It feels wrong. The pang of arousal in your stomach is undeniable, but it churns in disgust all the same. What should you do? What can you do when Ayato is looking at you like that? 

Ayato, for his part, is barely holding on to what little control he has left.

Ayato, always so careful about the image he projects, can barely contain himself at the sight of your bare breasts. He dips forward and places his lips over your right nipple, experimentally sucking at the hardened bud. The moan that rumbles from your chest spurns him forward, and he responds by flicking his tongue across the tender nub a few times before switching back to sucking on it. He’s so hard beneath his slacks that he feels like he’s about to burst - but Ayato is determined to properly worship you. If his words couldn’t sway your opinion, his body would have to do. He’d show you.

“S’too much,” You mumble. The haze clouding your mind and the heaviness in your limbs prevent your thought that you need to push him away before it goes too far. This was beyond inappropriate (as if it hadn’t been beyond inappropriate three glasses of wine ago), but if you could stop him now, the two of you could just forget this happened. “Ayato,” you say, with more force.

He pulls off of your nipple with a pop, his face flushed. Ayato’s gaze finds yours right away, the hunger in his eyes evident. The intensity of his look sends a shiver up your spine, and it’s at that moment that you realize there’s no stopping him. From the second you’d agreed to come to this party, he must have had things planned out. Ayato had no doubt realized you’d come to an understanding, and promptly dipped his head back down to give your left nipple the same attention he’d given your right. 

Ayato sucks fervently at your nipple while his hand comes up to pinch your already-abused bud, his nimble fingers tweaking and pulling at it with inexperience. His inexperience is made up for by his affinity for quick learning, and it only takes a few minutes for him to start using his fingers in a way that feels good. You moan unabashedly as he works your chest, aided by the wine you’ve consumed. The full effects of the alcohol had hit you with full force by now, and you were helpless to do anything but accept what Ayato wanted to do to you.

Ayato wants to worship you - wants to explore your body in full until he knows you inside out, but his lack of experience with sex is pushing him to get his cock inside you over doing anything else. 

There will be a next time, Ayato knows. He’ll show you as many times as he needs to that he’s perfect for you, that he’s capable of giving you the life you should be living. 

Ayato lifts his head from your chest and takes in the blissed-out expression on your face, his cock twitching. The wine was the right choice, and though he’d rather you be fully present, the brainless state you were in was getting to him more than he’d like to admit. He doesn’t linger on the thought too long, instead moving to take off your pants. Ayato doesn’t bother admiring your panties, quickly removing them and placing them to the side before he’s tugging his cock out of his pants.

You know what’s coming, and you weakly protest again, whining when Ayato awkwardly presses your legs to the side.

“Nooo,” you whimper, weak. “I can… use my hand. Or my mouth,” You let the words fall from your mouth, desperate. “We can’t…”

Ayato slides between your legs, ignoring your protests, and brings one of his hands up to cup your chin. “It’s okay,” He coos. “You’ll be my first. I want it to be you.”

His words feel like a punch to the stomach. It made it all the worse. You can’t do it, you can’t be that for him. “But—” You start to protest, but the nudge of Ayato’s cock against your slit makes you startle. Any words you had left to say in an attempt to persuade him die in your throat. Arousal burns hot in your stomach again, your body responding to stimuli despite the dismay swirling in your mind. 

Ayato has to stop himself from burying himself inside of you in one stroke. Just the touch of his sensitive cock against your slick pussy made him feel crazed. He understood now why so many of his peers were desperate to sneak away and fuck at every opportunity. He’d read things and watched porn, of course, but being a breadth away from fucking his longtime obsession was better than anything he’d ever fantasized about.

He can’t wait any longer.

Ayato uses his free hand to grab your hip and drags his cock through your pussy lips once more before he presses into you, his head catching your entrance after a few sloppy attempts.

Just the tip of his cock inside your warm walls makes Ayato groan, the hand around your hip tightening into a painful grip. You whine at the stretch as he continues to push forward. His cock was thick, and though your arousal helped, it’d been a long time since you’d been fucked - let alone by such a thick cock. 

Ayato rubs his thumb against your cheek as he continues to press into you, attempting to soothe you while trying to focus on not coming instantly. He lets out a guttural noise once he’s sunken to the hilt - he never imagined that sex would feel this good. The fact that his virgin cock is inside of you makes the feeling beyond euphoric. He squeezes his eyes shut, knowing that if he meets your gaze or looks down to see where the two of you are connected, he’ll come instantly. 

“You feel so good,” Ayato huffs, not daring to move. “I can’t ever let you go.” His sudden possessive tone startles you, and the gravity of the situation seems to hit you all at once. The pleasant haze you were in dissipates, and you squeak out a panicked noise. Ayato’s eyes open, unable to resist the temptation to look at you. 

“O-oh, fuck,” Ayato breathes out, biting down hard on his lip as his orgasm hits without warning - the look on your face combined with everything else was too much for him to bear. He keeps his gaze locked on yours as he comes, each throb of his cock so intense that you can feel it against your walls. His fingers grip your hip with such force that there are certain to be bruises left on those spots in the morning. 

Ayato’s face flushes bright red. It’s the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen him look. “I’m so sorry,” he blurts out. He doesn’t make a move to pull out, though. Ayato closes his eyes for a moment and grounds himself, breathing in and out. You wouldn’t judge him, would you? No… He knew you weren’t that sort of person. Before you can even try to move away or speak up, you feel his cock hardening inside of you. Your eyes widen in surprise.

“Please, we can’t,” You start rambling, trying to pull yourself back and away. Ayato’s grip on you is like iron. His eyes fly open, the hungry expression you’d seen before painting his gaze once again. “You came inside, we have to… Have to do something about it. Please, Ayato—”

“Shh.” Ayato presses a finger to your lips and smiles. His cock twitches inside of you, and he sighs. “We can’t end on that note. You wouldn’t deny me a good first time, would you?” He experimentally pulls out until just his tip is resting inside of you before he shoves himself back in, the cum inside of you making a squelching noise. It makes your stomach turn. “It’s the least you can do if you don’t agree to my offer,” Ayato purrs. The speed at which he had recovered control of the situation was nothing less than you expected from the prestigious teen, but to experience it in this situation made your blood run cold.

You lay there, tears beginning to spill down your cheeks, as Ayato continues to violate you.

-

At some point, you must have blacked out. When you wake up, you’re cleaned of any mess and dressed in your clothing again. You blink wearily, heart stopping for a moment when you spot Ayato above you - and then you realize your head is laying on his lap. You try to spring up, but nausea roils in your stomach and you’re forced to lay back down.

“Don’t try to get up so fast,” Ayato scolds. He runs a hand across your forehead, clicking his tongue. “You still feel quite hot. You must have drank too much.”

It feels like you’re in a different reality than him. Was he just going to ignore what he’d done? How much time had passed? Seeming to read your mind, Ayato smiles.

“We can talk about that in the morning. You were only out for about an hour.” Ayato gently lifts your head from his lap and stands, offering his arm to you. Knowing that you otherwise might tumble over, you reluctantly take it.

“I need to get home,” you start, but Ayato hushes you as he begins to lead you out of the lounge.

“You’ll stay here, of course.” Ayato’s tone leaves no room for arguments. “My parents are gone, and Ayaka is going to a friend’s house tonight. All the housekeepers know to remain out of this wing until tomorrow morning.” Ayato continues, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Besides, you’re still drunk. It’d be irresponsible of you to drive.”

“Then I’ll call a ride service,” You protest. Ayato frowns, but you press on. “I can’t stay here. We… I… I already messed up. I need to get out of here.” Your words grow more hurried as you speak, panic starting to rise in your throat. “P-please, just give me my phone.”

Ayato shakes his head and tuts. “No. I already told you what’s happening. The guest room is already done up for you.” He pauses and then raises one eyebrow. “Or you can stay in my room. I certainly wouldn’t mind.”

You scoff, and your stomach rolls again. You just wanted to be left alone. There was no point in arguing with him further. Your phone was gone, and it was unlikely you’d be able to snatch his phone. Any technology was sure to be locked down by passwords, and it was highly unlikely there were any landlines. You were well and truly stuck for the night.

“Fine,” you say. “Take me to the guest room.”

“Good girl,” Ayato coos. It makes you want to scream. “Though I’d prefer you to stay in my room, I think some alone time will be good for you. You’ll be able to think about my offer and reflect on what happened tonight.” Ayato doesn’t wait for a reply and begins to walk you out of the lounge and toward the bedrooms. He continues to speak as he guides you, his voice soft. “In the morning, Thoma will be here. He’s an excellent cook, and I’ve told him so much about you… Ah, I can’t wait for you to meet him.”

As you’re walking through the halls, Ayato’s hand tight on your arm, you can faintly hear the party continuing outside. It occurs to you that someone will notice you’re missing and that maybe Ayato had overlooked such a glaring detail. You wrestle against bringing it up or not, but Ayato interrupts your thoughts as if he can read your mind.

“Don’t worry about your absence from the party. I don’t wish to offend you, but the other students probably didn’t even notice you.” He gives you a sympathetic look, and your mouth curls into a frown. “They’re more worried about getting alcohol. Even if someone were to notice, they’re not going to remember by the end of the night.”

Ayato stops in front of a door at the end of the hall, producing a key from his pocket to unlock it. You eye it warily, realizing that the door only locks from the outside.

So quickly had Ayato’s charm turned to cunning, his kindness laced with poison. 

Before he unlocks the door, he leans forward and presses a kiss to your cheek. “I know that’s not much compared to what we just did,” he says, voice airy. “But I don’t want to get carried away. You’ll certainly need tonight’s rest.” He chuckles as he finally unlocks the door, holding it open for you. You slink inside and turn to shut the door, finding that Ayato is still standing there.

“What?” You ask flatly. 

“I just wanted to tell you good night,” he says, practically pouting. “And to remind you of my offer.” Ayato slips his phone from his pocket and fiddles with it for a moment before turning it in your direction, revealing the screen to show a paused video of your naked body, wine glass placed in your hand. Your eyes widen, and you really think you might throw up. “There’s more,” Ayato says. “But I’ll keep those to myself for now. Just give my offer serious thought, okay?”

There’s nothing more you can say to him. Bile rises in your throat as Ayato bids you good night and shuts the door behind him, the clink of the lock latching sealing your fate for the night.

[dawn-moths]

"Till Death, What's Left"

CHAPTER 1

Tomura & Dabi x Female Reader

word count: 23,000+

part 1 * part 2 * part 3 * ...

(A quirkless AU where after fleeing a treacherous incident, you find yourself caught up in the company of two strangers who also seem to have just narrowly escaped their own horrors. Unexpected events keep the three of you crossing paths. Maybe it’s twisted coincidence. Maybe it’s fate. And maybe, just maybe, the three of you could make the perfect trio to perform a string of robberies with payouts high enough to change your lives forever.)

disclaimer/content warning: 18+ content! minors dni! concept inspired by the music video for “365 Fresh” by triple h, title taken from the lyrics, drug mention, drinking, sexual harassment/assault, violence, blood/gore, suicidal thoughts/actions, angst and trauma, jealousy, love triangle, the songs mentioned in this fic are "Audi A4" by MISSIO and "Johnny Wants To Fight" by badflower.

*i'm reposting this fic in hopes that it reaches a wider audience this time given it originally went up back when i was sh*dowb*nned. also because chapter two will be coming out soon and i'll be putting in a lot more consistent work into it throughout this year.

*ao3 mirror*

***

The alleyway was narrow, cluttered with stray trash cans and empty produce crates and abandoned pieces of furniture that were littered with holes, serving as a metropolis for the vermin that scampered through the dirty, downtown streets.

The clouds covered the moon, another storm likely on its way based on the warnings grumbling from the distant, low rumble of thunder, the air thick with the humidity of the summer season. Suffocating, almost. Each breath taken was labored, the acrid tastes emanating from the city laying heavy on one’s tongue.

And, as painful as it was to draw in air under normal circumstances amidst this kind of weather, Dabi was running, his lungs burning every time he forced them to suck down more oxygen. His spiky black hair stuck to his forehead and back of his neck with a layer of building sweat, his old black boots nearly falling apart at the soles, brittle laces threatening to snap every time he got lucky enough to tie them up again.

He moved quickly through the obstacles of the alley, swiftly— like the stray cats that were spooked back into hiding with the sound of his fast falling footsteps coming near— but not nearly quick enough.

From behind him, the shouts were always right on his tail.

At the most, their angry voices were only ever the turn of a single corner away, at the least, close enough to grab his beat up old black denim jacket and yank him to the ground by the tattered collar.

If he could get to the abandoned apartment complexes further into the slums, he could lose his pursuers, weave his way through the crumbling buildings, his long, thin limbs slithering smoothly like snakes through the maze of gaps and holes that he knew so well— almost as if they were merely the halls of his childhood home.

Dabi wasn’t accustomed to getting caught. In fact, he’d only ever been sighted twice before, back when he’d first taken to this life after running away at the age of sixteen from the city that now loomed in the foggy distance. The beatings he’d sustained from the rival gangs back then, the near death experience of having his head kicked in by men twice his size and strength paired with the metallic taste of blood running down his throat had taught him to abide by one simple rule.

Don’t steal from someone you can’t outrun.

And Dabi was fast. Always had been, whether it be by wit or physical speed. But tonight, after enduring the beginnings of withdrawal from his beloved painkillers, his vision starting to sway, setting his balance off just enough, he wasn’t on his usual game.

The real kicker of it all is that he could see them come into view— the silhouette of the rundown, deserted apartments only a block or two away— just before his next step found a deep puddle and his feet slid out from under him, body slamming into the brick wall of the connecting alley before the back of his head smacked down on the grimy, cracked asphalt with a sickening thud.

It took his chasers four more strides to catch up, jumping on him immediately and snatching back the cash he’d swiped before beginning the third— and possibly final— beating that Dabi had ever experienced on these harsh streets.

His pale, tattoo covered skin was split with streaks of red, bruises blossoming in deep blue and violet shades across his face and body with every punch, every kick, every deadly impact from the gang as they told him— promised him— that they were going to kill him for this. The blood mixed with the sweat and ran in rivulets down his face, his teeth grit so hard with the pain that he feared they might crack.

But Dabi didn’t beg for mercy, didn’t even ask them to stop once.

He hadn’t the first time he’d been in this situation, or the second time, and now, he almost couldn’t help but laugh after his enemies left him to die lying in that alley.

They should’ve killed me, he thought through his sinister hysteria. They should’ve fucking killed me.

Because pain wasn’t something that Dabi feared.

Pain was like an old friend.

When he knew it was coming— and even when the visit was unexpected— Dabi welcomed the pain.

Because the pain meant he was still alive, even if just out of spite.

But he needed to get more of his pills. 

The pills weren’t the farewell to his old friend, pain.

The pills were an “I’ll see you soon.”

He liked the painkillers at night, when he was trying to sleep. Couldn’t sleep without them these days. But after a big break a few weeks back, Dabi had found himself with some extra time on his hands. More time to kill. More time to sleep.

So his nighttime hobby bled into the day, accompanied him through his afternoons and mingled with his lonely evenings.

Before he knew it, he’d found himself in a full blown love affair with the little white pills. His cruel, addictive mistress.

And he needed more.

He desperately needed more.

He’d do anything— had risked his life once already that night— and showed no signs of stopping.

After a while, he sat up with a groan of suffering, clutching his side where he was sure at least two of his ribs were broken, and braced himself against the cold brick wall of the alley to get back on his own two feet.

He had a bloody nose, a split lip, several other cuts and bruises marking his person, one of the more notable ones being a black welt under one of his eyes, the sclera dyed with red where a blood vessel had burst, contrasting starkly against his cobalt blue irises.

Dabi had already looked like hell on a good day and now…

Well, at least he still had his boots, even if they were falling apart.

So he kept moving, preparing to chase the next opportunity for cash.

Because he needed this tonight.

He’d lose his goodman mind if he saw the sun come up and his limbs were still shaking and his blood felt icy hot in his veins.

He was only a few blocks away from the nightlife district. Could practically see the red neon and blinking lights from where he staggered in the darkness.

So he started walking— limping, more accurately— trying not to scrape one aching foot on the pavement behind him where one of the bastards had tried to snap his ankle, and slipped into a shitty looking bar where the light was low enough that the other patrons hopefully couldn’t see his severe state of appearance.

“Hello, ladies,” Dabi began smoothly after clearing some thick, blood infused salvia from his throat, slinking towards the main bar where he saw two lone women drinking with one empty seat between them. He slipped onto the vacant stool and draped his arms over both their shoulders, limbs heavy with fatigue and radiating heat from the fading adrenaline.

They gave him varying glares of disinterest and disgust, but Dabi didn’t mind that.

It wasn’t the girls he was after tonight, anyway.

It was the set of shiny car keys that were placed oh so naively on the counter next to one of the women, the black and silver of the key fob taunting him, begging to be swung around his long, boney, tattoo covered fingers, tossed up into the air, caught, and pocketed as he strolled out of the bar and towards his new ride.

That oughta sell for enough cash to fund his drugs.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you both seem to be alone tonight…” Dabi’s lithe grasp inched closer towards the keys, slow and steady so as to not raise suspicions, yet it was killing him inside not to just snatch them and run. If not for the recent beating, he would’ve. “Might I interest you in my company?”

“We’re good, thanks,” one of the women shot back as she aggressively shrugged Dabi’s arm off her shoulders.

“Awww, c’moooon…” Dabi cooed condescendingly, eyebrows pulled together and lifted with faked disappointment. “Don’t be like that.” His fingers were nearly at the keys now. Just a few more inches and then…

“Dude, are you deaf?” the other asked rhetorically, also irritated at the unwelcome advances. “We’re not interested. Now get lost.”

And…

Just a little closer…

A liiiiiiittle closer…

Bingo.

“Alright, alright…” Dabi stood from the barstool, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets and beginning to step away. “Just tryna be a gentleman, jeez…” And then, just as he’d played out in his fantasy, as he exited the bar and stepped back into the city streets, he twirled the keys around one finger, tossed them into the air, caught them, and headed towards the car whose headlights blinked from down the block as the unlock button from the keys was sensed.

“Dumb bitch,” he chuckled under his breath as he turned the keys in the ignition, hearing the engine start up as the radio turned on, pulling out of the poor excuse for a parallel parking job and speeding off back towards his part of town.

As the high of his success coursed through his veins, he caught onto what song was playing and cranked up the volume, the windows shaking with the bass as “Audi A4” by MISSIO blared through his stolen car.

“I know you’re watchin’!” he called out with the loud song, approaching an intersection where the light had just turned yellow, pressing down harder on the gas pedal. “My A-Team’s rockin’!” There was another vehicle approaching from the adjacent lane, their light soon to turn green. “And I’m not stoppin’!” He ran the red light as he sung along, laughing to himself when the other car slammed on their brakes and held down their horn at him. “One! Two! Three! Four!”

And with that, Dabi had officially crossed back into his part of town.

***

You were just closing up for the night, working the late shift at the privately owned salon and barber shop that you’d gotten a job at by a friend of a friend.

You fucking hated this place.

It always smelled like mold, especially after it rained, and the owner always gave you the jobs no one else wanted to do on top of the job you’d been hired to do, which had originally been to cut hair.

No, your misogynistic, ugly bastard of a boss didn’t even try to hide it. He made it plain as day what his real intentions were in hiring you.

You gotta get into all the cracks and crevices, he’d remind you with a sleazy smirk, watching you with hungry eyes as you got down on your hands and knees to scrub the floor. If you don’t do it this way, it’ll never get clean.

He complained about having to come in to “check on you” all the time, yet always found it in his “busy schedule” to watch you do something as degrading as scrubbing in between the mildew ridden linoleum with a toothbrush. Always had something to say about what you wore to work, no matter what it was, and had even slapped you on the ass a few times before as a “joke”.

Too bad you needed this job. Wouldn’t survive without it. Not unless you wanted to go work at the cheapest strip club in the red light district just to pay for some microwavable meals and barely scrape by on rent.

Yeah, you fucking hated this place. You often spent your time daydreaming about burning it down as you snipped the dead ends off of people’s hair, fantasizing about slitting your boss’s throat with a pair of scissors or straight razor as he hovered nearby and watched you blow dry and style your clients’ new looks.

But tonight, just about ready to walk out of this shithole that you still couldn’t believe anyone came back to, let alone could find in its hole in the wall location, you let out an exasperated sigh when you heard the cheap, rust-rotted bells— one of which was broken— jingle above the front door.

“We’re closed!” you called as you folded the last cloth poncho up and tossed it over one of the chairs. Then just to yourself you mumbled, “God, can’t anyone read the sign…”

But then you sucked in a gasp at the sight of the large, lumpy silhouette that belonged to your boss standing in the entrance to the salon, clutching your heart as he startled you.

“I’m just closing up,” you began as you caught your breath, wanting to get out of here even more now. “What? You forget something?”

“No,” your boss stated sternly as he stepped further into the salon and closer to you, you instinctively taking a step back towards the sinks. “You have one final customer.” He sat down in one of the three chairs and you felt your stomach sink.

This motherfucker.

“Well, are you gonna do your job or are you only good for sweeping and scrubbing floors?!” he snapped, shaking you from your creeping dread.

You grabbed your scissors and comb, trying to steady your shaking hands as you draped the poncho over him.

He was watching you from the mirror, beady eyes glued to the little bit of cleavage that showed from your button up shirt, only ever drifting to find your thighs that were exposed below your jean skirt.

Fucking pervert, you cursed him with distain, snipping away at his greasy, thinning hair as your rage began to boil.

“Oh, and I want a shave too, alright, sweetheart?” he added, mocking tone proving that he knew he was getting under your skin and enjoying every second of it.

Once you were done with his hair you grabbed the straight razor and shaving cream, trying to remain expressionless as you slathered his face with the white foam, refusing to meet the predatory gaze that he kept trained on you while you worked.

“You better not cut me,” he threatened with a leer, flashing the gaps in between his crooked, discolored teeth, some of which were missing entirely. You opened the straight razor, the metal gleaming sinisterly under the fluorescent lights. “If you do…” His hand found your thigh, sliding up to squeeze your ass over your skirt, making you flinch and grit your teeth, jaw flexing in venomous vexation. “You’re not gonna like the consequences.”

Yeah, well you’re not the one with a razor to my neck, motherfucker, you thought with burning malice.

You could see it so clearly, practically feel it as you sliced the blade across his fat neck, skin parting like a hot knife through butter as dark, dangerous red spilled out and drenched his pit-stained polo with gore.

You were sure that no one would miss him.

In the very least, you and your co-workers— the few of them that you had— would be free from his fucked up definition of flirting.

But what would you do with the body?

Surely you couldn’t lift him on your own and you’d probably expend more energy than you currently had available to drag him into the alley out back.

And what about the blood?

You could try to mop it up but…

“What’s the problem, hon?” he asked in that patronizing way you fucking hated when he noticed you hesitating. His hand began to worm its way up under your skirt, a few of his rough, thick fingers sliding under the waistband of your panties at your hip. “I hope you don’t take this long with regular customers.”

Your grip tightened around the straight razor, face scrunching up in disgust and discomfort.

“Hey!” he snapped when you didn’t give a reply, his grip tightening on you as well, making you hiss through clenched teeth and finally shoot your gaze down to meet his. His sharpness softened then, as if he’d won something, another revolting smirk spreading across his thin lips. “Do a good job and I’ll make sure and give you an extra good tip, ok?”

You let out a slow, only slightly shaky exhale, and then, with the blade pressed to his neck, you began to drag the razor along his stubbly skin, careful not to nick him.

He took his hand off you— for now, at least— but that did nothing to ease the fury that was expanding in your chest.

It’d be so easy, the idea whispered ominously. He’s in no position to run, no position to fight back. You have him exactly where you want him. Exactly where you need him.

Like a hot knife through butter.

Once you were done, using a warm towel to dab off the remaining shaving cream, your boss rolled himself from the chair with a grunt and went to inspect your work up close in one of the many mirrors.

“Not baaaaaad…” he praised in a rough, sing-songy tone, again making a lump of anxiety settle in your throat. You tried to swallow it down before you’d have to speak to him again, if he found a way to get another response out of you.

He turned to face you as you refolded the poncho and tossed it back over the chair, huffing out a breath of annoyance.

But just before you could turn around to hurry past him down the short hallway and exit the shop, one of his big hands found your shoulder, startling you yet again. “Now…” Your eyes went wide with terror as his expression morphed into something violent, something that spelled more than just unwarranted touching or sexist remarks. “How about I give you that tip I promised, hm?”

He was pressing you against the sink counter before you got the first syllable of your protest out, your hips digging painfully into the edge while his growing erection rubbed up against the back of you.

“Stop!” you shouted, fighting to break free. “Stop! Let go!”

The straight razor sat open next to the sink.

“C’mon now…” he growled, pushing into you harder as he tried to hold you still, pressing your chest flat to the counter as you twisted and writhed under his grip. “Don’t be difficult. That’ll just make things harder for the both of us.”

Your blood ran cold, causing you to struggle harder, screaming out loud and shrill.

He slapped a hand over your mouth and you bit into his skin, making him curse and then rake his fingers roughly through your hair, grabbing at the roots and forcefully slamming your head down onto the sink counter, making you body shudder with the pain and then still momentarily from the daze of the impact.

The straight razor still sat open next to the sink, the glint of light off the blade blurring in and out of your spinning vision.

“You think I keep you around here ‘cause you’re actually good at cutting hair?” your boss taunted through a short, curt chuckle, undoing his belt as he kept you pinned against the counter. “Yeah, guess you’re as dumb as you are pretty, hon.”

You reached out, movements sluggish at first, and grabbed the razor, sliding it towards you.

“Maybe you should work late more often,” he had the audacity to say next, tugging your panties down, the sounds of threads tearing making your heart hammer in your chest with panic and your stomach turn with nausea. “Maybe, if you’re good, I’ll give you a raise…”

You began to push up from the counter, spine trying to straighten, the razor gripped tight in your trembling first.

But it wasn’t fear that was making you shake right now.

No.

Now it was nothing but pure, white hot, blinding rage.

“Little slut. Always coming to work dressed like a whore. You can’t exactly blame me for—” But the next insult was cut short as the deadly end of the straight razor buried itself into the disgusting man’s throat, his sputtering gags filling the space where his words used to be as liquid red ribbons spurted from his jugular.

You yanked the blade from his neck, a spray of red speckling your face and front of your button up shirt as you winced and closed your eyes, more of the gore spilling from his neck from between his fingers as he stumbled back and tried to apply pressure to the wound.

You watched as he tripped over his own feet and almost fell back into the chair he’d just had you shave him in, but missed by a couple feet and instead smacked the back of his head against the metal arm rest before dropping like a bag of rocks to the linoleum floor.

The razor was still in your hand, blood dripping off the end of the blade that reflected the bastard’s final dying breaths.

He gaped at you with wide eyes, reaching out with his free hand and seeming to be attempting to plead, to beg for help or mercy or any of the other things he would never have shown you.

But you weren’t a monster like him.

You weren’t going to leave your prey to writhe and squirm in agony.

Because you weren’t a coward either.

No.

For better or for worse, you were going to finish the job.

Like a hot knife through butter, huh?

Let’s find out.

You approached him slowly, careful to stay out of reach from his grabbing hands that would likely pull you down to the floor by your ankle and try to get the one up on you again in his final moments. When you realized just how weak he was growing from the bloodloss, you straddled his fat body, probably giving him one last hard on before it all came to an end. Because the next thing you did was drive the razor into the base of his neck, right where there would’ve been a dip in his collar bones if they’d been visible, repeating the vicious motion until his struggling had finally stilled and he lay there unmoving, his blood covering you both, the light having left his squinting, rodent-like stare.

You stepped off of him then, watching the blood pool around him for a minute or two before the weight of it all came crashing down on you. The straight razor slipped out of your hands, which were trembling in fear now, all prior rage-fueled vengeance gone. And it was the metallic clang of the weapon hitting the floor that finally pulled you back down to earth.

“Fuck…” you exhaled through a shaky breath, looking down at the blood that covered your hands, hasilty wiping them on your jean skirt with splotches of red before rushing over to grab all the ponchos you’d just folded, throwing them down and trying to soak up all the blood that was continuing to pour from his person.

“Fuck… Fuck… Fuck!”

Thank god it was closing, but still. The night would only last so many hours. Would you have enough of them to get rid of the body and hide the evidence before tomorrow morning’s clients came knocking?

***

There was so much blood. Way more than you thought there’d be, that was for sure. All the ponchos were ruined with a dark, rusty red. Discarded thoughtlessly in the dumpster out back where you’d painstakingly dragged the body to slump alongside all the trash it belonged with.

Someone would find him. There was no doubt about that.

But by then, you’d be gone. The shop would be clean. Or clean enough to buy you a little more time, at the very least. And you’d most likely have packed the few belongings you had back at your dingy, cramped apartment and skipped town.

You didn’t know where you were going but the one thing you did know was that you couldn’t stay here.

It had to be nearly two in the morning when you finally stumbled out of the shop, not remembering if you locked up behind you but not giving a shit at this point, hurrying down the short span of alley that would lead you back out onto the hopefully abandoned main streets, when the blinding glare of oncoming headlights stopped you in your tracks, causing you to freeze in the middle of the narrow road where a car was barreling towards you.

If it killed you, at least you wouldn’t have to deal with the cops hunting you down.

But it stopped with a jolt and a screech only a few feet before colliding with you, the driver inside slamming back against the headrest with the force before you both just stared at each other through the windshield with wide-eyed, surprised and terrified expressions.

Dabi noticed the blotches of red that were freckled across your white shirt, the smudges of rust on the faded denim of your skirt, saw the bits of blood that had dried in your hair and on your face where you thought you’d wiped the evidence away.

He turned down the blaring music and opened the driver’s side door, stepping out and looking at you for a moment as the headlights continued to cause you to squint and shield your vision with one hand, only able to see the stranger’s silhouette— a tall, lanky shadow with spiky, wild hair.

What he’d meant to say was get out of the road, but instead what came out was, “Need a ride?”

You nodded, trying to gulp down the remnants of the trauma you’d just been through over the past couple of hours.

“Then get in.”

So you did, having no problem listening to this man without hesitation— well, you had minor hesitation, but still— though you supposed that this man hadn’t tried to assault and rape you.

If he did, you wouldn’t have your straight razor, but now that you’d done it once, you supposed you wouldn’t be afraid to kill again.

But he didn’t try to put his pale, tattoo covered hands on you. Just glanced down at the blood that stained your hands and asked with a sarcastically curious, “What happened?”

“Nothing…” you shook your head, trying to hide your hands by sitting on them, feeling the still drying blood sticking to the underside of your thighs, staring out the window and hoping that he would become more distracted by the road than your crime. “You can just drop me off near the train station.”

The man, who you now noticed had tattoos not just on his hands but pretty much everywhere— the ink trailing up his wrists and arms, his neck, even some migrating under his eyes— along with cuts and bruises of his own, and bright, clear, damn near entrancing blue eyes simply put the car into drive and continued down the narrow side street towards where you’d directed him.

***

Tomura Shigaraki had tried to kill himself numerous times before.

He’d tried suffocation, drowning, pills, leaning off the edge of a bridge and peering down at the drop that was sure to end him the moment his body hit the concrete.

He’d tried— and succeeded— at taking his own life numerous times before in the safety of his own mind. Took comfort in imagining his lifeless body lying still, undisturbed on a sidewalk somewhere or, better yet, in the comfort and familiarity of his own home.

And, a few times, he’d tied a plastic bag tight around his head and breathed until all the air was sucked out only to then panic and then tear it open, taking in big gulps of air and coughing out his impulsive stupidity.

He’d gotten into an overflowing bathtub completely clothed and submerged himself beneath the surface, tried to hold himself at the bottom until his body began to convulse and his chest tightened in pain, only to then break through the surface and yield the same result as when he’d failed previously.

But tonight, Tomura had found a fool proof plan.

There was always traffic downtown, especially on the weekend when the bars and clubs and general nightlife scene was at its most concentrated.

So as he walked along the sidewalk in his beat up old red converse, one of the laces untied and threatening to trip him with every step, he tried to imagine which one would take his life.

Would it be a standard yellow taxi cab? A family SUV?

Or maybe it would be a nice, expensive, spotless sports car.

Maybe it would be red or black or— better yet— white. That way his blood would show up bright against the hood.

Yeah, a white ferrari might be nice, Tomura thought with morbid glee.

But as he stood at the crosswalk, the glowing street sign above his head blinking with the WALK symbol of the little minimalistic figure taking a step forward, he found the one that he really wanted.

It wasn’t a ferrari, but it was white. A Mercedes-Maybach S Class with silver detailing.

And it was going fast.

Even after the light turned to yellow, the speeding car showed no signs of slowing.

Perfect, Tomura thought, bracing himself to step out in front of it at just the right moment.

The street was empty, aside from him and the car, the late hours of the night proving to be a little less optimal for his death than he would’ve originally liked, but if this was it then so be it. Tomura was ready to die. 

He was ready to not have anything around to stop him this time.

So he did it.

He jumped in front of the speeding car, his body slamming into the hood just as Dabi slammed on the brakes and skid to a halt for the second time that night— the second time that hour— nearly killing another complete stranger.

Tomura’s body flung back and rolled out into the middle of the street, laying motionless under the glow of the red light.

“What the fuck?!” Dabi shouted as he stepped out of the car, trying to assess the damage but not stray too far as he was still seriously considering just driving off. But he’d already stolen a car. He didn’t exactly want to add hit and run to his list of crimes for the night, though it’s not like it would’ve been the first time. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“Should we help him?!” You were getting out of the car now, unsure of whether you should approach, seeming to be pulled towards the body and the car back and forth by an invisible line as you nervously shuffled on your feet. “God, what do we do?!”

“He threw himself in front of me!” Dabi snapped defensively, as if you hadn’t been sitting right next to him and seen the whole thing. “Fucking idiot! God…”

“Well, is he dead or…?” You now started towards the body as Dabi scanned the area, pulling on his hair with stress and frustration. No one was around but that didn’t mean the accident hadn’t been seen.

The scrawny stranger who lay in a heap of black clothing and shaggy, silvery hair wasn’t moving, but still, you couldn’t help but hold out hope.

“H-hello?” you asked once you were close enough that, if he was alive, he might be able to hear you. You knelt down to his level, leaning over him now, trembling hands hovering above his body like you were afraid even the gentlest of touches would shatter him, cause him to disintegrate to dust.

But then the young man groaned and flopped over onto his back, blinking bleary, scarlet eyes up at you. He had tired eyes, dark circles etched in deep, and a scar that ran over one side of his chapped lips.

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed as the silver-haired stranger mumbled quiet, incoherent things under his breath. “Hey! Hey, he’s alive!” you called back towards the tattooed man who’d nearly killed you not long ago. “He’s alive!”

Dabi remained by the car, his body leaning against the inside of the open driver’s door with one foot perched on the floor mat, halfway to just abandoning the both of you here and saving his own ass. “Are you fucking kidding me…?” he asked again, though this time mainly to himself.

“Hey, can you hear me?” you asked the person laying on the road in front of you. “Are you ok?”

As Tomura’s vision began to refocus, his voice began to return to him too. As far as he could tell, he was mostly uninjured. His entire body felt like it was just run over by a truck— or, well, actually, it was a Mercedes-Mayback S Class— but other than the constant aching soreness that made it hard for him to move, he was otherwise alive.

Unless…

“Are you…” Tomura began. You leaned in closer to hear him better, his voice a raspy ghost of a whisper. “Are you an angel?”

When you smiled at him then, just a tiny, slightly amused yet relieved grin, Tomura’s eyes rolled back into his head and he let out an exhausted sigh. Or, well, perhaps he too should be holding out hope. Because if you really were an angel that meant that he’d finally succeeded in killing himself.

“Can you stand?” you asked him next. In response, Tomura tried to roll back over onto his side and push himself off the ground. Your hands tried to guide him, to steady his body until he was on his own two feet and had an arm slung over your shoulders while you helped him limp towards the car.

“Hey!” Dabi shouted angrily as the two of you approached. “No! Leave him on the fucking curb! I ain’t chauffeuring another person around!”

“He’s hurt!” you called back in protest, staring up at Dabi with a plea for mercy. “We can’t just leave him!”

“Listen. I said I’d drop you off,” Dabi sneered, glancing at the staggering stranger with revulsion. “Not you and some random guy who was dumb enough to step out into oncoming traffic!”

“Hey, where do you live?” you asked Tomura, who still seemed to be caught in a daze, his weight becoming a little heavier on you as his body began to slump. When he didn’t respond, you just looked back to Dabi and said, “Just drop him off with me. I’ll figure the rest out.”

Dabi stared at you both then, battling with himself on whether you were worth the trouble or not— as if you’d ever been worth the trouble— then gave a begrudging sigh, telling you to hurry up and get back in the car.

You opened the door to the backseat and helped Tomura slide in before running around and reclaiming your seat on the passenger’s side, Dabi taking off before you’d even finished closing your door and speeding recklessly down the darkened night streets once again, clearly not having learned his lesson the first time— or the second, for that matter.

You kept watch on the man in the backseat from the rearview mirror, who just had his head lazily rested against the seat, slouching down and not bothering to put a seatbelt on as he stared out the window with utter defeat. If it weren’t for the steady rise and fall of his chest, there were a few times you would’ve thought him to be dead with how still he was sitting.

“Hey…” you addressed him. He just shifted his crimson gaze to meet yours in the mirror. “What’s your name?”

He averted his eyes again, staring back out the window at the ghost town rushing by outside. “It’s Tomura…” he finally answered after a long, labored breath.

You introduced yourself in return, only getting a simple, barely detectable nod in response.

“And what about you?” you then asked the driver whose jaw was still clenched, back teeth grinding in agitation from the recent events.

“Who gives a shit…” he answered rudely, narrowing his gaze at the road before him, running another red light.

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes. You didn’t particularly care either, you supposed.

“Ah, shit…” Dabi then said as he noticed the gas meter running empty. You were about to ask him what was wrong, but then he continued with, “Who the fuck goes out with their tank this low?” 

While he was throwing a fit over the dwindling fuel, you were starting to recognize the area, only a few more blocks till your apartment complex, but you didn’t say anything as you could feel the driver’s stress filling the atmosphere of the car. And, with this guy, you felt like a simple statement of “hey, my turn is coming up” would be more than enough to set him off right now.

Dabi cut down another side street where he knew a gas station wasn’t far. It was just outside the city, which you’d already been on the outskirts of, but Dabi wouldn’t be able to pawn the thing off if it stopped rolling the moment he parked it in the shady, underground garage of the illegal stolen car salesman he knew, so he had no choice.

And god he needed his pills.

He needed the cash first though, and to get the cash he needed the car.

Fucking million step process just to get some fucking painkillers, he thought bitterly.

But he could complain and grumble all he wanted.

In the end, he’d do whatever it took, just like always.

“Stay in the car,” he’d said in a way that sounded nonchalant, but you knew was an order, slamming the door shut before you could answer and going over to fill the tank.

You looked back at Tomura, who was still gazing out the window in a daze. You couldn’t help but stare at him, tracing the lines of his scars with your eyes, following the way his wavy hair framed his face and the cool light of the street lamps illuminated his pale skin, making his scarlette eyes glow even brighter. A vibrant contrast against all the monochromatic shades that otherwise painted his person.

“Hey…” you began, speaking softer that time, as if trying to soothe him. “Why did you do that?”

He didn’t respond at first, the only indication that he’d heard you being the slight widening of his eyes, the expression reading as if something dire had just occurred to him before dissipating back to exhaustion. 

“Do what?” he asked with a bored, tired drone.

“Try to kill yourself?”

Tomura looked at you now, only his eyes moving as if the rest of his body couldn’t be bothered. But he couldn’t hold your gaze for very long, the intensity of your sincerity killing him in a way he’d never considered.

“Dunno…” he lied, giving an awkward half shrug, wincing in pain halfway through and gripping his shoulder with one hand.

“Well it was a stupid thing to do,” you scolded him lightly, causing him to shoot you another one of those feral, wide-eyed glares, head turning a little more this time.

“Yeah, and what would you know about it?” he challenged with a scowl, raspy voice a little more sharp now. A little more dangerous.

“I know that if it were me, I wouldn’t try to drag someone else into it. Especially not complete strangers,” you answered, now wearing a scowl of your own.

But you weren’t actually mad at him, per se.

The way you saw it, even though you hadn’t been the one driving, you still would’ve felt responsible if you’d just left him there alone in the street. 

Besides, you’d already taken a life that night and one was more than enough for you.

So you weren’t mad at him. Just concerned.

Because, maybe, at one point or another you’d been just like Tomura. And, possibly sometime in the very near future, you’d be more than willing to throw yourself into oncoming traffic or off a building or bridge or, in the very least, swallow a bunch of pills just to make it all stop.

Because the sight of all that blood— the smell of it, acidic copper mixed with the chemical burning of the bleach stinging your nose— and the sheer fact that, despite the circumstances, you were indeed a murderer as of a few hours ago, well…

The full weight of that was sure to settle over you eventually and, when it did, it just might be too much to bear.

“Whatever…” Tomura puffed out through an exhale of annoyance, looking away from you and back out the window.

Only, Tomura actually did want to answer you. He just didn’t have the right words at the moment to explain it all— that sinking, empty emotion that comes with feeling like you’re completely alone in the world, of having nothing and no one. 

Though, a few seconds later, he perked up in the backseat, noticing something amiss as his skittish crimson gaze scanned the scene outside the window.

“Hey…” he said, causing you to glance over your shoulder. “Where’d that guy go?”

***

Dabi walked into the gas station’s convenience store with his hood up, his head down, and his hands shoved into his pockets.

First, he pretended to browse the chip aisle, strolling slowly as he read over all the brand names. Out of the corner of his gaze, he noticed a security camera. He wondered if it was actually on.

The cashier leaned over the counter and scrolled mindlessly on his phone, used to only a few sporadic customers coming in during the graveyard shift. He hadn’t even glanced towards Dabi when he’d entered, probably wouldn’t have cared even if he’d seen all the tattoos that covered his pale skin, that ran down his arms and up his chest and neck and face.

Maybe he wouldn’t care if Dabi tried to rob the place, if he took all the cash in the register and ran off either.

Because Dabi was even more shit out of luck than he had been at the start of the night.

He’d lost that bundle of cash he’d stolen when those guys had caught and beaten him in the alley and the gas station console wouldn’t let him fill his car until he had proof of payment first.

Well, here goes nothing, Dabi thought as he sighed and marched up to the register.

The kid was still scrolling through his phone and it was only when Dabi aggressively cleared his throat did he glance up, face going white when he registered the man standing before him.

“Uh… Can I—” the kid began, but was cut off as Dabi began one of his most ambitious bluffs in a long time.

“Open the register,” he ordered with a growl, voice quiet but stern, pushing one of the fists that were shoved in his pocket closer to the kid, pretending to conceal a gun. “And hurry it up.”

The cashier didn’t hesitate. He fumbled with the drawer and laid its entire contents out on the counter for Dabi to take, backing up and knocking down some of the cigarettes from where they were placed behind the counter while the tattooed thief stuffed the cash into his pockets.

When Dabi was done, he just nodded at the kid and said, “Oh, and gimme one a those,” eying one of the packs of marlboros that now lay scattered behind the counter. The cashier tossed him a pack with a shaky hand and then Dabi left, rushing towards the gas console, feeding in the bills, filling the tank, and then yanking the pump out the moment he heard it click, not bothering to place it back in its holder before jumping in the car and speeding away with a screech, both you and Tomura staring at him with wide-eyes, hands gripping the safety bars above the window as your bodies were jostled around with every veering turn.

“Uh… What ha—” you tried to ask.

“Don’t…” Dabi snapped, making both you and Tomura flinch. “Ask.”

So you didn’t. You remained silent for the rest of the drive aside from directing Dabi where to turn once you reentered the part of town you recognized. When you told him here was fine, he pulled over to the curb. “Um… Thank y—”

“Get out.” Dabi cut you off. He wouldn’t even look at you. You hesitated for a moment, once again wishing that you at least knew this mysterious man’s name despite how he’d treated you, then opened the door to exit. “And you,” Dabi glared at Tomura from the backseat, the silver-haired suicidal a little more alert now. “I ain’t drivin’ you around anymore either. Get out.”

Once Tomura was standing beside you on the sidewalk, Dabi just turned the music back up until it was so loud you could hear “Johnny Wants To Fight” by Badflower in a muffled blast from inside of the car and sped off again, feeling more on edge by the minute and needing to get the stolen car to his contact before the police had a chance to find him first.

And then it was just you and Tomura left in a perplexed daze in the middle of the night a few blocks from your apartment, everything that had happened up until this point feeling like some strange fever dream that you still hadn’t fully woken up from.

“So… uh…” you began, awkwardly eyeing Tomura who was staring at you like an inquisitive animal. “Do you live around here too or…?”

“I don’t live anywhere,” Tomura replied. “Not anymore, at least.”

It had to be three, maybe even close to four AM by now. Tomura looked tired. You were exhausted. You’d both had the same strange experience and just letting him walk away felt wrong, like you really would wake up tomorrow and forget everything, all the blood and black ink and silver-hair mixing together before fading away entirely.

“Do you… want to come in?” you hesitantly invited.

Tomura then seemed to snap out of his dead stare, blinking a few times before answering, “Sure.”

***

“This is it…” you said as you flipped up the switch by the door, the lights flickering a few times before illuminating the cramped studio. Tomura just stood in the doorway for a moment, eyes scanning what little there was to look at before stepping inside. Neither of you really knew what to say now. What to do. When an awkward silence began to fill the space, you asked, “So, um… Can I get you a glass of water or…?”

Tomura then seemed to snap out of whatever daze he was currently in, flinching as he registered that someone was speaking to him and responding with, “Oh, yeah, sure.”

As you took a hastily washed glass out of the sink where you’d left it this morning and filled it from the lukewarm tap, you kept an eye on your guest out of the corner of your vision and rinsed the dried blood from your hands.

He was standing in the middle of the room, honing in on specific details like what books you had scattered across the tiny, uneven coffee table you’d picked up for free from the curbside when you’d first moved here. He studied the dying houseplants that drooped by the fingerprint smudged windows, their leaves and vines having given up on reaching towards the sun long ago. But, one thing he noticed above all else was the single photo you kept on your scuffed up bedside table.

“Who are they?” he asked when you came over to hand him his drink. He took the glass carefully in his hands, as if he feared he might break it.

You took a seat on the end of your bed with your own glass of water, sipping at it as you glanced at the photo. “My family,” you admitted, though wore a sad expression where he would’ve expected one that was a little more, well…

Actually, he didn’t exactly have the fondest memories of his family either.

You thought he might ask you what happened to them, if they lived nearby or if you guys were close, but he didn’t. Instead, he just nodded like he understood and then sipped at his drink while standing a few feet across from you, both of you looking at each other and waiting for the other person to say something else.

You wondered just how long he’d been alone. How long he’d had to endure silence before almost getting killed— then saved, if you could call it that— by you and that tattooed guy in the middle of the street tonight. You almost asked. Would’ve, if not for him speaking first.

“Why did you let me in?” he asked, intentions unreadable in both his face and tone.

“Should I not have?” you inquired. Instinctively you reminded yourself where you’d hidden weapons throughout your apartment— a letter opener in the nightstand drawer, pocket knife underneath one of the couch cushions, multi-tool behind the vase near the front door— just in case things took a turn. Tomura just continued to stare at you, his gaze curious, as if he found you just as odd yet enticing as you found him. “I mean…” you then recovered, “You said you had nowhere to go, right?”

He nodded, bringing the glass to his lips but pausing before taking the next sip, saying, “Did you know the guy in the car?”

“Not until just before we ran into you,” you admitted.

Then Tomura asked “Did he do that to you?” nodding at all the blood on your clothes. You realized that maybe it wasn’t necessarily you he kept staring at with wild eyes, but all the evidence instead.

You’d already nearly forgotten about it.

“Oh…” you exhaled, plucking at your button up shirt and noticing that the bright red had gone rusty now. There was no way those stains were coming out. You’d have to throw your clothes away or, probably a better idea, burn them. “No, he didn’t. That was…”

But you couldn’t finish the sentence. Not even with an insult at your former boss. You just wanted to forget any of it had ever happened.

Tomura then sat on the end of your bed next to you, staring at where the beat up old sofa was pushed up against the wall and gulping down the rest of his water. It was then your turn to study him, decode his appearance as if that would answer all your unasked questions. But, unlike you, his situation was a lot harder to read. He kept it carefully concealed under long black sleeves and faded black jeans, shaggy tufts of hair falling in front of his eyes and hiding parts of his face from you.

Though, there was one thing you hadn’t noticed before, when the only light you’d had to view him by was the dim glow of passing streetlamps or traffic lights. His skin wasn’t just scarred, it was scratched, dry and patchy around his eyes and forehead, eyebrows sparse and chunks of his eyelashes missing as if he’d rubbed them off.

Instinctively, you raised a hand to touch him, wanting to care for whatever condition he had— wanting to understand it better so you could help— but when he saw it coming towards him in his peripheral vision he flinched back, grabbing your wrist to stop you.

You both stared at each other with gaping expressions, scared for different reasons.

“I’m sorry—” you went to say, the words caught in a gasp. But Tomura didn’t look angry. He didn’t look like he was going to hurt you. Instead, he looked at you as if he thought he’d just narrowly protected you from something horrible, like touching him was some kind of curse you might catch. “I didn’t mean—”

But then he let you go, giving you back your wrist, which you cradled in your other hand, and looked away from you. “Sorry…” he mumbled, vermillion stare stuck to the multicolored shag rug hiding the partially rotting hardwood floors. “It’s just… I’m not used to being touched and I…”

Similar to you, Tomura also had a hard time speaking the things he’d much rather forget.

Then, without thinking you blurted out, as if you had just suddenly decided it needed to be freed from the cage of your body, “I killed someone tonight.” Tomura didn’t flinch at that. Just looked back at you with a gaze that either said, “I’m sorry” or “I understand”. Maybe both.

And suddenly you had this fear of rejection, like you expected him to lash out and call you crazy, deride you for committing such a heinous act. But instead he just asked you, “Did they deserve it?”

You cracked a nervous smirk, the fever dream you felt like you were floating in becoming all that more unbelievable. “Yeah…” you said, a stifled, choking sound that was perhaps the dying embers of a sob catching in your throat. “Yeah, he did.”

“What are you gonna do?” he asked next. You felt like the scenery around you was beginning to blur, the walls closing in tighter and tighter until they’d press flat against you and trap you in a cube of claustrophobia. 

Your eyes began to tear up. “I don’t know…” The heat that was building in the room was beginning to feel suffocating. You buried your face in one of your hands, the other one holding the half empty glass of water starting to tremble. “I don’t know…” The air conditioner had never worked and even your cheap convenience store fan had broken recently. “I really don’t know…”

Tomura was unsure what to say to you, but he was trying to find the words. Any words. Any words at all to convey to you that you’d figure it out. That you’d be alright but—

But why did he care?

Why did Tomura— someone who’d tried time and time again to end his own life because he was so convinced that nothing was ever going to be alright for him ever again— care whether you sorted out your problems or dug your own grave?

Because she doesn’t deserve that, he figured. She has far more to live for than someone like me.

You were just crying now, your glass of water sitting abandoned on the floor by your feet as you hid your sorrows in both of your palms, body shaking even more as another wave of tremors wracked through your bones, sharp inhales peppered throughout your otherwise silent sadness.

Tomura wished he hadn’t stopped you from touching him earlier. He wished he’d allowed you to reach over and run your careful fingertips over his skin, the scars and the dry patches that cracked and split in thin slashes across his face.

Though, maybe, perhaps, if he could reach out and touch you, you’d allow him to try and care for you the way you’d wanted to care for him. As much as one hollow stranger could care for another, that is.

“They’re gonna find me,” you muttered, words garbled by the thick coating of saliva clogging the back of your throat. “They’re gonna find me and then they’re gonna—”

You froze when you felt a hand— Tomura’s hand— resting on the small of your back, peeking out from your palms as if to confirm that it was actually him that was touching you and you weren’t just imagining it. And he was tense at first. Not gentle and comforting like he had a feeling you could be.

But he was trying.

You were making him want to try.

“What…?” you eventually asked, Tomura’s startled stare becoming too intense for you to hold.

He then mumbled something, his voice so quiet you didn’t catch it at first. So again, you asked him, “What?” and when he repeated himself you realized he’d said, “I want to kiss you.”

You blinked a few times, trying to clear the thin film of tears that still glossed over your eyes, lashes spiked and cheeks streaked with drying salt. Your ears were ringing, and suddenly all you could hear was the buzzing in your head. But you felt your mouth moving, felt the gentle vibration of your vocal chords when you said, “So kiss me then.”

Tomura leaned in halfway, the hand on your back clutching your shirt in his fist, trying to conceal just how terrified he was of his own desire— for you and this newfound realization that maybe he did actually want to live, even if only just a little bit. It was overwhelming.

And it was kind of nice, the fact that he wasn’t trying to feel you up right from the get go and pin you underneath him like most of your previous one night stands tended to do. So you kissed him, and he kissed you back, but it wasn’t romantic or sweet. It was rough and desperate, both of you trying to leave proof on each other that the other person existed, that you’d met, that you’d both almost died that night yet had somehow ended up alive at the end of it all, even if one of you hadn’t wanted to.

Tomura had shaky hands. And they were cold, like they had no blood in them, like he really had died back there on the street and was just a walking corpse. They sent a shiver through your body as his fingers brushed against your ribs under your shirt, pushing up until they found the clasp of your bra, fumbling with it absentmindedly as if he wasn’t aware of what his fingers were tangled up in.

You reached behind you and undid it for him, both of you breaking the kiss and pausing for a moment, lips still almost touching as you panted into each other’s mouths and wondered if this was really happening. If you wanted it to happen.

I killed someone, you remembered again. And then I almost watched him get killed.

It was fucked up.

All of it.

Your life.

His.

And definitely the guy who’d driven you two and then sped off without a word.

All of it was just so fucked up.

Has been for a long time, you thought, going back to kiss Tomura again, this time trying to be a little softer, letting him know that you needed things to slow down a bit. But when your tongues met this time, you realized something odd.

Tomura tasted like nothing.

Now that you thought about it, he didn’t smell like anything either.

Maybe he really is a ghost, you thought to yourself with much less concern than you probably should’ve. Either way, you wanted to feel his lips on yours again, kissing him over and over until you felt like some of his rigidness had melted away.

“Wait… Do you really wanna do this?” Tomura asked then, seeming to be second guessing himself now that his thoughts had actually caught up to his actions.

“Do you?” was all you answered in return. You think you wanted to, though, you weren’t exactly sure why.

Does there need to be a reason, you asked yourself. Does there need to be a reason when nothing makes any fucking sense anyway?

When Tomura’s hands started trailing up your body again, you took that as a maybe. When he kissed you again, also being a little softer this time, you took that as a yes.

So you let him have you, taking no issue when he squeezed at your ass or pulled your panties down. Because you could see it in his eyes— this void, empty space where maybe, at one point, his true self had been.

You had also lost your true self.

You couldn’t remember exactly when or how, but you often felt like you were nothing more than an empty vessel, just a body wandering aimlessly without a soul to occupy it.

And at one point, you too had wished for it all to end, having run out of options for escape, tired of scraping at the bottom of the barrel just to earn another day in the pathetic game of survival you supposed you called your life.

But here, now, with this silver-haired stranger who’s name you’d barely learned, you felt like the embers of your dwindling soul were being reignited in its hearth, the flames that maybe would grow into a steady fire coursing warm through your blood.

Tomura didn’t bother with much foreplay. Didn’t need to. You were wet enough already just from some simple touching and kissing. Maybe it was because you hadn’t been like this in a long time— lying underneath someone who you actually wanted to give yourself to, not just shutting out the sensations as you went through the motions when you were late on paying your rent. But Tomura still prepped you the best he could, slipping two of his slender fingers into your fluttering hole and pumping them in and out a few times, scissoring them inside to stretch you.

When you told him you were ready— that you wanted him now— Tomura sunk into you slowly, feeling you clench around him right away and letting out a groan as his crimson eyes rolled back in his head. As he rocked his hips rhythmically, your neck craned and your back arched, breathy little moans escaping your lips.

“Tomura…” you whined as he brought his chapped lips down to suck at your neck, leaving behind his own personal constellation of bruises, biting in sometimes and pulling a gasp or another moan from you.

His hips picked up the pace soon, thrusting into you and making your whimpers come out louder, sounds of pain and pleasure filling the formerly silent, small space of the apartment. You didn’t care if your neighbours heard you. It’s not like you knew your neighbours anyway. Besides, you were still planning on skipping town soon anyway.

“T-Tomura!” you were begging, but for what?

For more?

For him to slow down? To speed up?

Even you weren’t sure anymore.

You just let yourself get lost in the touch of the man you’d only known for a couple of hours yet felt you understood better than some people you’d known your entire life.

It was almost like you needed to prove to yourself that this was still ok after what had happened with your boss. You needed to know that you weren’t broken, that any scars you’d gained from that incident would heal and fade away. Maybe he could be the bandaid on the bullet hole that was the amalgamation of every horrible thing that had ever happened to you. With how good he felt inside you, it sure seemed that way.

And Tomura, well, he’d almost forgotten the last time he’d felt anything, let alone this much of a will to live.

Because every time his hips snapped against the inside of your thighs and your silky, pulsing walls clenched around his cock, or he pulled another one of those sweet little sounds from you, whenever your lips met his or his lips nipped at your neck, the strangest thought occurred to him.

Maybe I don’t want to die.

He wouldn’t trust that statement in the long run but for now, even if just one very strange, very ominous night, he’d allow himself to believe it.

And as the two of you curled up under the covers, soaking in each other’s body heat, Tomura’s long, thin arms wrapped around you like you were the only thing he’d ever had worth holding onto, he thought to himself…

Maybe with someone like her, life is worth living.

***

“Why do you want to die so bad?” you’d asked Tomura after you’d both woken up that morning, both your hair tousled with sex and sleep.

The two of you stayed in bed until nearly noon, the summer sunlight that poured in through the spotted windows giving you both a warm glow, sun dust visibly floating through the beams.

“I don’t know,” Tomura had answered, though that time he hadn’t just used the excuse as a filler for a question he didn’t feel like explaining. “I just… It’s been like that for a long time.”

You’d kissed him— a tender, soft kiss that made Tomura feel loved for the first time in, well, in forever— and he’d tried to kiss you back in the same way, hoping that you could understand through the gesture that you’d saved him— were still saving him— from the black abyss of his death wish one touch at a time.

“I was like you once,” you admitted then, wearing a sadness that Tomura was used to seeing in his own reflection, one that lived deep in someone’s eyes. And then it was his turn to ask you why. “Because,” you gave a short shrug. “I’m never getting out of here— out of this…” You then looked around your apartment as if that summed up the entire history of your life’s problems. You didn’t necessarily believe in heaven, though, if there really was an afterlife of some sort, you just hoped it really was a better place like people always said. Even if it were merely a plane of existence where you wouldn’t have to feel any more pain.

Tomura wanted to tell you that you were wrong, that someone as beautiful and kind and caring as you deserved so much more than this, deserved to live more than most people. Definitely more than someone like him and definitely more than someone like that guy who’d driven you both around so recklessly last night.

“I’m sorry,” was all Tomura could think to say as he held you closer to him, afraid to let you go, like if he did you’d turn to sun dust and disappear on the breeze that was seeping through the cracked window overhead.

“Don’t be,” you replied evenly, sounding tired. “Besides, I’m still alive.” You looked up at him, admiring the way the light hit his scarlet gaze. “That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Before either of you could say anything else, your phone began to buzz from the nightstand. You wriggled from Tomura’s grasp to see who it was, your blood freezing in your veins when you read one of your co-workers name’s pop up on the caller ID.

“What is it?” Tomura asked when he felt you tense.

A million different possibilities rushed through your brain at once.

Did they find the body?

Of course they did.

Do they know I did it?

Are the police already on their way?

No, they would’ve already gotten here.

Shit, where did I leave my shirt? It’s still got blood on it.

“Uh…” Your voice shook and you cleared your throat. “One second.”

You threw your legs over the side of the bed, reached down to pick up the nearest article of clothing, which just so happened to be Tomura’s black crewneck, and slipped it over your head, the oversized garment covering enough of you to feel decent as you picked up the phone and retreated to the bathroom, closing the door behind you, as if the walls were thick enough to keep even your low muttering from being overheard.

Just play dumb, you reminded yourself before accepting the call. You went home last, but not too late. Only a little bit after the hairdresser who finished up before you. You didn’t see your boss. Just went home.

“H-hello—?”

“Oh my god!” your co-worker boomed from the other side of the call, making you wince and pull the phone back from your ear for a moment. “Are you ok?! Did you hear?! I can’t believe this—!”

Yep. They’d definitely found the body. But, luckily for you, it didn’t sound like you were a suspect yet.

You tried to swallow down any evidence of your so-called “crime”, attempting to sound surprised and confused, but not so much so as to expose that it was all an act.

“Someone stabbed him and left him in the alley behind the shop!” your co-worked continued in disbelief after you asked what happened. “Thank god you got home before running into whoever it was. I can’t imagine!”

There would be a more thorough investigation soon enough, you knew. The police would search the shop and find traces of his blood and probably the straight razor with your fingerprints on it. You could just argue that you’d had a customer earlier that day who’d booked a shave, or better yet, someone else at the salon would use it and mark it with their touch too.

But you would become a suspect. It wasn’t a matter of if, only of when.

“Are you on the schedule for today?” she then asked, and you could hear the flipping of pages in the background, your co-worker already working on answering her own question.

You knew you were, but there was no way in hell you were planning on going in. Cops were probably crawling all over the alley. If they stopped you for questioning, you weren’t sure how well you could hide the dread that was sure to show on your face and shake in your voice.

“I’m not feeling well today,” you lied. “Can you do me a huge favor? Take me off the schedule, cancel my appointments. I didn’t have many…”

Your co-worker said she would. She was a good friend, if you’d considered her as such before. She was always willing to check in on you, help you out when you needed it, but you knew she definitely wouldn’t be willing to sink with you on the whole killing your horrible, misogynistic, rapist of a boss situation, even if she hated him too.

“I wonder if this means our next paychecks will be late…” she sighed after agreeing to help you, wishing for you to feel better.

You both told each other to stay safe, keep in touch, and as soon as you hung up you let out a quivering exhale, a weight of getting through that conversation free of suspicion lifting from your shoulders momentarily.

You’d almost forgotten about Tomura until you exited the bathroom and saw him sitting on the edge of your bed, half dressed— aside from his shirt that you were wearing, of course— and beginning to lace up one of his beat up red converse.

“Hey…” You blinked at him as you stopped in the doorway of the tiny bathroom. “Feel like breakfast?”

***

“That’s why I was covered in blood last night…” You recounted drearily as you picked at a stack of pancakes, twirling your fork and watching the spongy food tear apart easily. Then one of your thoughts from the previous night returned to you.

Like a hot knife through butter.

You were losing your appetite.

“Well, sounds like the fucker deserved it,” Tomura commented with a lazy shrug, taking a bite of his own stack of pancakes, his loaded with blueberries and chocolate chips. For a guy who’d tried to kill himself so often, he sure seemed to enjoy the simple things in life.

You glared down at your plate, silverware clenched in your fists. “Yeah, well, it won’t matter what he deserved once the cops find out…”

“Hey…” Tomura’s hand cautiously found yours, fingertips barely brushing against you and causing your gaze to snap back to him. “They won’t find out.” But you assured him that they would, sooner or later, if you stayed here. “Then let’s leave. Run away from here.”

Let’s leave?

Run away?

As in together?

You didn’t think strangers who were this easily willing to skip town with someone they’d just met existed outside of fables and fairy tales. And you were still working on figuring out if last night was fact or fiction.

“I don’t know…” You sighed. “I just—” But as you looked back to the front windows of the diner, you caught a face you recognized slinking by, the tall, lanky, tattooed figure pulling the door open and entering the establishment.

Dabi stopped as he looked up and saw you and Tomura sitting in the furthest corner, huddled close together in the otherwise empty restaurant.

He pulled the hood of the sweatshirt he wore under his black denim jacket down to expose his spiky black hair. “No shit,” he scoffed, heading straight towards you then, sitting in one of the empty chairs and laying both elbows on the table comfortably like he’d been invited and was simply running late.

“What are you two doing here?” he questioned in a bored drone, then glanced at your torn up, soggy pancakes with that cerulean half-lidded stare and asked, “You gonna eat that?” You slid your plate towards him without a word and he began to dig in, ravenous, silverware trembling slightly in his hands.

Neither you nor Tomura really knew what to say. After everything that had happened last night between the three of you, what more was there to say?

“Why the fuck did you put so much syrup on this?” Dabi complained through his next bite, though he didn’t seem to mind too much with the rate he was shoveling the food into his mouth. His bright, azure gaze hopped back and forth between you and Tomura, waiting for one of you to answer his first question.

“What?” Dabi then snapped, a scowl forming on his brow.

“Nothing,” Tomura answered then, trying to act natural as he took another bite of his own breakfast.

“What are you doing here?” you inquired next, a bad mood beginning to creep over you.

“Uh-uh,” Dabi shook his head as he pointed his fork— your fork— towards you accusingly. “I asked you first. And what are you still doing with him?” He shot a quick glare at Tomura, seeming to harbor some ill will towards the man who’d thrown himself in front of a speeding car.

Or perhaps it was more the jealousy that the scrawny, silver-haired, scarlet-eyed stranger had gotten to go home with you and, even more, that he’d made a good enough impression to be invited out for breakfast the next morning.

“Well we were having breakfast before you showed up,” you replied with disdain, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair.

“Oh, were you now?” Dabi said with another sarcastic chuckle and a roll of his eyes. “Tell me, do you always prefer to dissect your food into a million pieces before you consume it, or is that just for special occasions?”

“What’s your problem, man?” Tomura then jumped in with a sneer, causing both you and Dabi to look at him with varying degrees of surprise. Dabi almost looked intrigued, like there was a challenge he knew he could win somewhere in Tomura’s question. And you, well…

You just weren’t used to people sticking up for you.

“Was I talking to you?” Dabi shot back through a low growl, his hand tightening into a white knuckled fist around the fork to try and hide his growing withdrawal symptoms, feeling his body temperature rise even higher, and not just from rage.

“Stop it!” you scolded, not wanting a scene to unfold. Now it was your turn to be on the receiving end of Dabi’s glare. “Just stop. What do you want anyway? If I’m remembering correctly, you told us to get out and then sped off. If you want money I’m not giving it to you.”

“Cute,” Dabi flashed his teeth at you in a mocking smile, shoving the plate, now nearly devoid of all its previous contents, into the center of the table. “But I don’t want your money.” He pushed his chair back and stood aggressively, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. “But it’s your loss,” he baited with calculated indifference. “I was actually about to invite you both to make some with me.”

Dabi began to stalk off then, but just before he could exit the diner, he spotted some faces that he recognized through the building’s front windows.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit…” he swore under his breath, whipping back around and pulling his hood up, returning to his seat at your table hastily, back facing the window. You and Tomura both just continued to watch him with an uncomfortable perplexity. “Tell me when they’re gone,” Dabi ordered in a hushed voice, but neither you nor Tomura knew what he was talking about.

That was, until two cops entered the diner, eyes scanning the empty room, sticking on the trio of you three for a moment and causing a dagger of panic to spike in your chest, before they moved on to take a seat at the main counter, calling to the waitress who was just coming out from the back and ordering two coffees.

“Of fucking course…” Dabi sighed, raising his eyebrows in lazy defeat as if to say, “this might as well happen to me today.”

“What did you do now?” you accused with a scowl, eyes darting from the cops back to the tattooed stranger. Though, again, after last night, it was sort of odd to think of him in those terms.

“Shut up!” Dabi ordered with a hiss, lowering his head a little more and trying to angle his face away from the cops. “Just shut up.”

“Whatever,” you murmured with irritation, now taking your fork back up and going to pick at what little remained of Tomura’s pancakes, your annoyance making some of your appetite return to you.

But the cops didn’t stay long. Just ordered their coffees, drank them while talking about bullshit, paid, and left. You and Dabi both let out a breath of relief once you found yourself alone in the diner again. Tomura had just watched the whole thing unfold with wide eyes and wavering interest.

“What did you do?” you pressed harder once it was just the three of again.

“Look, I’m in some trouble with the cops and some of the local gangs, alright!” Dabi shot back with simmering fury, though still kept his voice hushed to a hissed whisper. “And I need money fast or else, the next time they see me, I’m dead!”

“The next time who sees you?” Tomura asked, not sounding the least bit worried as he sipped at the orange juice you’d ordered and barely touched.

“Either of ‘em, dumbass,” Dabi retorted with a roll of his eyes, causing you to kick him in the shin from under the table which earned you the most feral look he’d flashed either of you yet. His hand was curling into a fist again and, for a moment, you really thought he was going to swing at you, but he just heaved out another exasperated sigh and said, “Y’know what, forget it,” before standing from the table, the metal legs of the chair scraping harshly against the splotchy floors. He grumbled to himself as he shoved his hands back in his pockets and prepared to turn and leave, “Should’a never stopped for you anyway…”

“Why don’t you just sell that stupid car?” you called to him when he was halfway to the door. He stopped and glanced at you over his shoulder, staring at you as if he was giving you a chance to continue. “If you need money that bad,” you clarified, nervously taking Tomura’s hand under the table. “Just sell your car.”

Dabi marched right back up to you, perching himself to lean forward with both hands lying flat on the tabletop. “You think I haven’t thought of that already?”

“Well?” you raised, squeezing Tomura’s hand a little harder and making him give you a slightly anxious side glance. “Why don’t you then?”

You and Dabi just stared at each other, searching each other’s eyes with matching scowls as if hoping to fish out some kind of weakness, see who would break first.

Finally, Dabi slumped back down in his seat again and sighed, tapping his foot relentlessly on the floor. “Because…” he admitted, partially with defeat. “I stole it. And my normal guy skipped town so now I’m shit outta luck with finding someone I can sell it to without alerting the cops.”

You were just about to say something like, “Well that sounds like a you problem then,” when all of a sudden Tomura cut in with, “I know someone who will buy it.”

Both you and Dabi gave him incredulous looks.

“It’s kinda far away…” he elaborated, leaning in a little closer to the huddle, “But I’ve done deals with the guy before and…” his words drifted off as if he was forgetting his sentence at the same time he was speaking it.

“And?” Dabi snapped.

“And he’s good with that kind of stuff,” Tomura continued. “Like, buying and selling illegal shit.”

You blinked twice, your hand still clutched in Tomura’s, who was holding onto you now more than you were to him.

Just who was this guy?

“If you’re bullshitting me,” Dabi warned, pointing a long, bony finger at Tomura, who’s crimson gaze widened even more, “then you’re gonna be the one who’s dead at the end of all this? Got it?”

Dabi should’ve known better. Should’ve known that, at least before coming home with you last night, Tomura would’ve wanted nothing more than for the tattooed criminal to follow through with that threat.

But Tomura was telling the truth.

Sure, he’d never bought or sold a stolen car to his contact, but he had obtained all kinds of drugs in the past, experimenting with what would bring him the closest to death without actually killing him before he’d made his mind up about actually wanting to die.

So Dabi agreed, all three of you leaving the diner— without paying, mind you— and piling back into the white and silver Mercedes-Maybach S Class, Dabi speeding outside of town towards the direction Tomura pointed him in, windows rolled down and music blasting all the way on account of him not wanting to have to hear either of you talk.

***

“Over there,” Tomura pointed out once a graffitied billboard of a crying woman warning against the dangers of drug addiction came into view. “Turn left at the next intersection.”

Dabi grumbled something under his breath before veering left and causing both you and Tomura to lean in the same direction with the sudden force. He then drove down a long, abandoned stretch of empty road for what felt like a long time. His agitation was growing, fingers tapping relentlessly on the wheel until finally he demanded, “Where the hell is this place?”

“Right up ahead,” Tomura kept promising. Your hand had inched closer to his in the backseat every time Dabi voiced one of his annoyances, feeling safer than before when you’d been in the passenger seat beside Dabi but still nervous since you were never sure what was gonna set the guy off. Finally, your hand found Tomura’s, his fingers intertwining with yours as he came to seek safety in your touch just the same. You gave his hand a little squeeze, the gesture becoming your unspoken sign for rising anxiety. To try and ease the tension that was building in the car, as he lightly stroked his thumb over the top of your hand, Tomura added, “Next turn that comes up. You can’t miss it.”

The next turn wasn’t for twenty more minutes, so you rested your head against Tomura’s shoulder in the meantime, his rigidness melting away after a little while, even allowing himself to rest his head against yours, his fluffy silvery hair tickling your cheek.

But finally, once the turn came up, you were able to calm down a little bit. Mostly because Dabi started to calm down a little bit. Though, as he pulled up to the place, it looked more like an old gas station than a place where someone would trade a stolen car.

“This really the place?” Dabi asked, glancing at you nuzzling up to Tomura in the backseat with…

What?

Jealousy?

He forced himself to glare back out the windshield as his grip on the wheel tightened.

“Yeah, pull in here. There’s a warehouse in the back,” Tomura instructed, lifting his head from yours and becoming more alert. “I’ll go and see if he’s here.”

“Right… you’ll see if he’s here…” Dabi rolled his eyes, veering off to the side and putting the car in park. “For how far we just fuckin’ drove, he better be here.”

“I’m coming with you,” you announced as you exited the car after Tomura, not wanting to be left alone with Dabi any longer than you had to. Tomura tried to tell you that it would be better if he went alone, that his contact could be a little skittish when it came to meeting unfamiliar faces, but you promised you’d be good. That you’d stay quiet and close to his side. You took his hand in yours again and then he agreed, informing you that it would be best if you didn’t touch anything, no matter how tempting.

“I mean, what does this guy deal?” you asked with a playful raise of your eyebrows and lilt in your tone. “Like, rare gems or something?”

Tomura hesitated, his eyes widening a fraction as he stared down at you. Then he looked away, giving a lazy half shrug and lightly scratching at his neck as he replied, “Sometimes. Depends…”

Before you could even think of a response, you were being pulled along by Tomura, who stepped up to the entrance of the warehouse and knocked on the metal door. “Hey! It’s me!” he called, waiting a moment before going to knock again, shouting louder that time, “Spinner! It’s Tomura! Got somethin’ for ya! Open up!”

Seconds later, a shady looking man answered the door with a disgruntled, “Jesus, Shigaraki, keep it down! You’ll upset the new arrivals… Already bad enough that all the semi-trucks come down these roads all the time.” The man, who you assumed was Spinner, looked you up and down and then back to Tomura with a slightly skeptical, “Uh… This isn’t what you brought me… is it?”

Tomura pulled you closer to him protectively before replying, “The car,” pointing a thumb behind him at where Dabi still sat behind the wheel.

Spinner glanced at you— well, the two of you, really— a little surprised to see Tomura so protective over anything, let alone a person, and one that he was touching so easily at that. Then he stared out at the Mercedes and nodded once, saying, “Tell ‘im to drive it ‘round back. I’ll open the garage and he can park it there. In the meantime…” He hesitated, then sighed to himself, the faintest smile detectable as he told his old friend, “I guess you guys can come in.”

“Thanks…” Tomura nodded, guiding you further into the warehouse which was…

Well…

The place was like a rat maze, each turn beholding another narrow hallway with an exhibit of luxury furs or designer handbags or power tools, all kinds of multi-colored pills stored in old gumball machines or clear plastic storage containers. There was one wall covered in vintage gameboys, playstations, old arcade units, some electronics that you couldn’t even place. But the part of the warehouse that you found the most strange yet intriguing was the room that Spinner led you to.

It was lit mostly in red on account of the many heat lamps placed in each of the several glass tanks which contained different exotic reptiles— snakes and geckos, poisonous frogs and iguanas. You were even pretty sure one of the animals was a baby crocodile.

“Still selling exotic animals, huh?” Tomura teased with an odd kind of fondness as he scanned the room, noting to himself the newest additions to Spinner’s collection from the last time he’d paid him a visit. “What? Tigers and Lions take up too much space?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Spinner shot back, as if offended. “I wouldn’t trade these no matter what the price. They were all lab animals. Test subjects for this and that. But recently another friend of mine caught wind that they were gonna be confiscated by some kind of animal control, so I took ‘em instead.” Spinner reached in and grabbed up one of the lizards, which rested calmly along his wrist as he gently stroked the top of its head. “Poor little guys have been through a lot…”

“Right, so, the car?” Tomura redirected. “Will you buy it?”

The dealer’s affection for his reptiles faded back into an attitude of business as he placed his hand back into the tank, allowing the lizard to crawl down and scurry back into its little cave as he said, “Gotta check a few things and then I’ll let you know. Your friend should be around back by now. Guess I should go meet ‘im.”

“He’s not my friend,” Tomura finally admitted, pulling you a little closer to his side as you continued to gaze around the reptile room in awe.

“Who is ‘e then? Someone we can trust at least, right?”

Tomura bit his tongue to try and suppress a nervous smirk, one of his hands clenching into a fist as it threatened to dig into his skin as he lied, “Somethin’ like that…”

“It’s complicated,” you chimed in, both Tomura and Spinner’s gazes snapping towards you. Neither of them said anything so you went on a little more nervously with, “W-well… The three of us sort of just… ran into each other the other night and—”

“Ah, c’mon, Shigaraki…” Spinner sighed with irritation. “How many times have I told you to only bring people you know here. Need I remind you what happened that one time with that guy who ended up being an undercover cop?”

“Trust me, this guy’s definitely not a cop,” Tomura assured his friend, removing his touch from you and migrating closer to Spinner, pleading his case. “If anything, he’s a first rate asshole, but other than that…” Tomura shrugged. “Guy has his own reasons for needing the cash.”

“So you’re splitting it?” Spinner asked, seeming to warn Tomura with the raise of his eyebrows that that was a bad idea. Tomura gave a hand gesture that said something along the lines of sort of, not really, who knows and a wincing expression. “Does he know that?”

The two of them began to leave the room, and you were staring at Tomura as if he’d look back and tell you to sit tight until he returned, that everything was ok, but he just kept on walking, chatting away with his friend while you sought refuge on the tiny sofa in the center of the room and basked in the red glow and many slithering silhouettes of the snakes in the tanks.

It felt like a long time until you finally heard footsteps approaching down the way that Tomura and Spinner had gone off in. Though, instead of silvery tufts and crimson eyes rounding the corner, you were met with inky black and smoldering sapphire.

Dabi was smoking a cigarette. Must’ve just lit it with how he was fidgeting with the silver lighter, a soft metallic clang tapping out irregularly. “Well, it’s just one fuckin’ surprise after another in this place, ain’t it?” he remarked with a sarcastic scoff, plopping down on the couch next to you, stretching his arms out over the back and looking around at all the scaled creatures with carefully concealed awe. He blew out a cloud of thick smoke, the smell making your nose wrinkle as you scooted away a few inches. You wanted to tell him he probably shouldn’t smoke in here on account of all the animals but, who were you kidding, it’s not like he would’ve cared.

“Where’s Tomura?” you asked, a slight twinge of worry laced into your voice.

“Your Romeo’s out with that other guy inspecting the car,” he replied dismissively through a yawn. “They better hurry it up. I want my money…”

“I think you mean our money.” You’d meant it to come out sounding much stronger than it really had— more of a declaration than a timid reminder— and your confidence dwindled even more when Dabi shot you a narrowing glare.

“What are you talking about? I’m the one who stole it. Hell, I drove you two around in it all night. You guys owe me.” He scoffed to himself again, wearing a cold smirk and slightly adjusting his position on the couch. Under his breath he muttered, “Our money… Please.”

Perhaps it was the fact that you’d killed someone or just that you were getting really fed up with this guy, but something had suddenly possessed you to argue back, “Yeah, and without Tomura you never would’ve had somewhere to sell the car. Remember that?”

Dabi shifted his position to face you better now, rage lighting up being his eyes while his tone remained low and even, a volcano always on the verge of erupting. “And tell me, how do you come into all this? ‘Cause as far as I’m concerned, you’re just some bitch I found covered in blood wandering the streets in the middle of the night. What’d you do? Slash some guy who got a little too rough with you? Or, wait, maybe your story is that he tried to attack you first and somehow you got the upper hand.”

You felt an unpleasant burning in the back of your nose. The tightening of your throat. Tears prickling at the edges of your vision. But you weren’t about to cry because you were offended. You were about to cry because you were furious.

Because this guy didn’t know a goddamn thing.

And, even if he did— even if you told him the truth— he still wouldn’t care.

As long as he got his drugs at the end of all of this, why should he?

“You don’t know anything,” you growled, rage cutting through your trembling fear that yes, you were a indeed a murderer. And one soon to be at large once the cops did a little more investigating.

Dabi leaned in, pupils mere pinpricks as all that bright cerulean threatened to swallow you whole. “Then just fuckin’ tell me already.”

But you were leaning in too, you now realized, your shared trait of living hard, unfortunate lives pulling you together like two mistreated magnets, however resistant you tried to be.

And as Dabi stared you down that time, you realized that something had changed— or rather, was changing— behind that piercing cobalt stare of his. It made you reconsider that maybe, if you just filled in the gaps, he would understand. He would care.

Or maybe he’d just turn you over to the authorities for ransom and call it a day.

“My boss…” you swallowed, mouth coated in thick, sticky spit. “He tried to— He almost…” You let out a frustrated sigh, a shiver skittering through your bones as you replayed the events of less than twenty-four hours ago in your head. If you focused hard enough, you could still smell that pungent metallic tang of all the blood, feel his thick fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs. “I didn’t have a choice. If I didn’t kill him, he would’ve killed me, sooner or later.”

Dabi was slowly nodding his head. And, for a moment, you thought maybe he did understand. But when he opened his mouth and asked, “So, you are a whore or…?” you rolled your eyes and let out a frustrated groan.

“I’m a hairdresser!” You snapped, wiping more tears away as you sniffled, scowl deepening. “Or at least…” your gaze became far off, staring into the tank of a komodo dragon in a daze as you concluded, “I used to be.”

And then Dabi actually laughed.

He was trying to stifle a series of cruel, amused chuckles as you shot him a look of fiery resentment, about to say something horrible to him before he piped up with a teasing, “And to think, you had the worst crime out of all of us the entire time!”

“It’s not funny!” you scolded, both your raised voice and Dabi’s incessant cackling stirring the reptiles. “I was just defending myself! But now I’m probably going to jail! How do you think that feels, huh? How do you think it feels to not have anywhere to go or anyone to rely on right now?”

Dabi’s laughter suddenly ceased, as fast as a flame blown out by a quick, strong breath. His face became blanker than you’d ever seen it, completely serious as he replied, “Probably pretty fuckin’ shitty. But y’know what. That’s life, ain’t it? No one’s ever really there to save you.” He leaned in closer, looming over you, his shadow casting across your form and making you disappear into the darkness that filled the red room. “All you ever really have is yourself,” he went on, his simmering anger boiling hotter and hotter with each new sentence. “And that’s what happens to the weak ones. They can’t protect themselves when worse comes to worst. Because there’s never gonna be any grand hero to swoop in to your rescue. And the sooner we all realize that, the better. So quit your fuckin’ crying—” He was pointing a finger at you now, tears having started streaming down your face again without you even realizing it. “Grow the fuck up, and figure out what you’re gonna do about it. ‘Cause you’re all you got. Understand?”

Your entire body was shaking and, staring up at him in the eerie red light, a dangerous glint shining in his eyes, Dabi really looked like a monster. But you’d slayed one of those before. If you had a straight razor, you could do it again. Though, you didn’t really want to be a killer. Or rather, you didn’t want to get used to killing. Because you still believed that you were a good person, that you maybe even deserved good things.

You’d crossed a line, sure. One that, in the eyes of society, would spell irreversible damage.

But wasn’t that always the way these kinds of things played out? By showing you one atrocity only to prepare you for another, much more traumatizing one? Constantly reminding you, it could all be much worse?

“But don’t worry…” Dabi side eyed you as he said, “I won’t rat you out. People like you and me, we gotta do what we need to in order to survive.” He leaned forward to place his silver lighter on the coffee table, taking another long drag to calm his nerves.

“Thanks…” but there is no you and me, you wanted to say. Instead, you just scooted a few inches away from him, hoping Tomura would come back soon.

Until he and Spinner returned, however, you and Dabi opted for awkward silence. You were just trying not to think about the blood on your hands, even if the bastard had deserved it. Dabi though…

Dabi’s mind was in a much different place.

Because as he’d peered down at you in the redlight, the dim patch of fluorescent illumination directly above the couch that the room allowed shimmering in your big, terrified eyes…

He’d realized that what he’d felt spike in his chest when he’d glanced at you and Tomura cuddling in the backseat was indeed jealousy, the emotion slowly seething into his skin only to inevitably radiate from him if he didn’t find a way to cure it soon.

And the other night when he’d kicked you and Tomura out of the car and sped off. That had been a mistake, hadn’t it? What he should’ve done was dumped that silver-haired suicidal off on the curb and insisted on driving you home. Maybe then it could’ve been him sharing pancakes with you at the diner instead. Maybe then it would’ve just been the two of you splitting the money and not this useless third party who was going to spend it on who knows what useless shit.

Dabi clenched his jaw, trying to keep himself from sneaking another glance at you but, just like when it came to his addiction, he didn’t have much self control.

Whatever, he tried to convince himself. Once this deal is done, we’ll all go our separate ways and never have to see each other again.

Only, what if that wasn’t true. What if that was only true for him, and you and Tomura went back to your apartment or some motel or, fuck it, you’d have money, you could get a room somewhere nice, and fucked again.

Just the thought of that grungy loser’s hands all over you was making Dabi start to lose his cool. And you’d let Tomura kiss you too? Let him run his tongue all over the inside of your mouth and down your neck and inside your tight little pussy? Disgusting.

Bet I could make you feel better than he did, Dabi thought to himself as his leg began to bounce anxiously. Bet I could fuck you so good you’d forget you’d ever met him.

But then, before Dabi could start to really spin out of control from the jealousy and withdrawal, Spinner and Tomura reenerted the reptile room, both you and Dabi looking over and awaiting that fateful number.

“So, I took a look and…” Spinner began, pretending to hold you and Dabi in suspense while the smirk on Tomura’s face said he already knew the price you’d be splitting three ways. “It’s in pretty good condition. Whoever you stole it from must’ve just bought it and, based on the paper plates, it had to have been within the last thirty days. I’ll give you twenty thousand. Three ways that’s—”

“Over six thousand each…” you breathed out in sheer disbelief. That was more cash than you’d ever had in your bank account, let alone all at once.

You couldn’t fathom it. The thought of what you could do with that much money. The thought of getting out of that shitty apartment and moving to a better part of the city, one where you could get hired at a salon that was much more high end than the back alley one you’d been previously employed at…

If you hadn’t killed someone, that is.

If you weren’t soon to be a wanted criminal.

“That’s right,” Spinner confirmed, taking out a thick envelope and handing it off to Tomura who looked pretty proud of himself.

Dabi, however, was not as pleased…

“Twenty thousand?” he asked, standing and tossing his half finished cigarette down onto the concrete floor of the warehouse, stomping it out with his first stride towards the dealer. “Nah. No way. Things worth at least one hundred thousand new. Maybe even more than that.”

“Sorry,” Spinner shrugged. “That’s as high as I can go.”

Dabi’s hands clenched into fists by his sides and you were sure he was finally going to throw that punch he’d been holding back all this time. So you intervened again, saying, “That’s more than enough to get your drugs.” Dabi looked over his shoulder lightning fast, that vengeful and violent shine back in his eyes and honed in right on you. Meanwhile, Tomura was ready to jump between you two if Dabi really did lose his temper.

“Cute,” Dabi spit, whirling back towards Tomura and his friend before eying the envelope containing the cash. He could just steal it. Yeah. Once the three of you were out of here, Dabi could take it and run. “And you,” he nodded aggressively at Tomura. “What the hell do you need it for, huh?”

Tomura’s eyes widened a bit, his jaw clenched as he gripped the envelope tighter, Dabi taking a step towards him. He then opened his mouth to throw a hostile reply right back, but no words came.

In truth, he didn’t know.

Before meeting you, Tomura probably would’ve blown it all on one hell of a self-destructive night before finally pulling the trigger and ending it all. But now…

Well, he’d have to figure that out once he discovered what you were planning to do.

“What?” Dabi smirked, cruelty seeping back into his voice. “You gonna pay someone off to perform a hit on you or somethin’?”

Tomura warned with a growl, “Don’t test me…” his eyes going wide, though this time in a much more feral, dangerous way than before. Then, ever so slowly, he placed the cash in his back pocket. He could take it and run too, if he wanted. He just had to get past Dabi to grab you first.

“Guys…?” you spoke, sensing the growing tension and hoping to calm things before they really spiraled out of control. “C’mon. We got the money. Now let’s just go…”

Dabi ignored you, clearly occupied on setting Tomura off before calling it quits with the little ragtag trio the team of you had formed. And part of him, whether he realized it or not, wanted you to see that, just because Tomura had remained relatively calm during all the recent chaos, that didn’t mean that he wasn’t capable of flying off the hinges too.

Because what was that saying again?

Always watch out for the quiet ones?

“Y’know, I’m not really convinced that someone like you even deserves that kind of money,” Dabi went on. Spinner was getting fed up with this quarrel too, though his concern was more for the fact that all this bad energy swirling in the room was bound to upset his replies than if one of the boys left here with a black eye. “So why don’t you just do the right thing and give it to me and the girl so we can get on with our lives while you keep trying to end yours.”

“Just stop it!” you’d tried to shout out, but it was too late.

Tomura moved fast.

Too fast.

Just a blur of black and silver and crimson, a snarl echoing off the concrete and eyes flashing with ill intent as he lunged at Dabi, the force sending both of them falling to the ground.

It was clear to everyone in the room that Tomura had never been in a real fight before, the way he wildly and clumsily threw punches that Dabi blocked with mocking ease. It wasn’t long until Dabi gained the upper hand and flipped the scrawny, scraggly boy on his back, jumping on top of him and showing him what a real punch looked and felt like.

Spinner was shouting. You were crying, screaming at the two of them to “Please stop! Knock it off already!” and Tomura and Dabi were rolling and clawing and cursing at each other while fighting for possession of that damn envelope.

The three of you were once again plunged into connected chaos, though this time none of you seemed to know how to rescue each other.

Eventually, the envelope slid from both their gasps and landed right in front of you. In a moment of panic and impulse, you grabbed it up and then snatched the lighter Dabi had left on the coffee table, flicking it open and producing a flame, holding it dangerously close to the cash and bellowing out, “BOTH OF YOU STOP OR I— I’M BURNING IT!”

All of the oxygen in the room felt like it had been sucked out at once.

Even Spinner was holding his breath, as if he had something to lose.

“Are you fucking crazy?!” Dabi shouted, voice cracking with a shriek upturning at the end.

“Get off him or I swear I’ll do it!” And you weren’t bluffing, the flame kissing the edge of the envelope and beginning to toast the crinkled paper, causing Dabi to obey instantly, holding his hands up in surrender and stepping off Tomura, who was coughing from when Dabi had closed his hands around his throat.

And Dabi only hated Tomura more now.

He’d hated him from the very first moment his stolen car had nearly run the suicidal maniac over in the street. He’d hated him when he’d dropped you two off near your apartment and sped off with the music blaring, just knowing that the two of you were going to fuck. He’d hated him when he’d seen you sharing pancakes at the diner just earlier that morning. And he’d hated him when he’d seen him rest his head on top of yours in the rear view mirror like two lovesick puppies leeching warmth off each other.

He hated that you were willing to throw away life changing amounts of cash just to save Tomura from a black eye and some broken ribs. Hated that you cared more about the silver-haired freak than the bigger picture here— the picture that he was soon to be painted out of.

Because time after time, Dabi had lost in life. He’d lost, most times, because he fell in with bad company or couldn’t run fast enough when a job went south. He’d lost because he’d become a slave to his addiction and couldn’t give two shits about correcting it. And he’d had the perfect opportunity to be the one you’d invited back to your apartment, the one you’d shared shitty diner food with, and the one you’d curl up in the car with, but he’d blown it because he just couldn’t let himself have anything good without thinking there was going to be a catch.

“Just give me the lighter…” Dabi spoke softly to you now, as if talking you off a ledge, one hand extending for you to toss the zippo into, or, in another world, take hold of.

You hesitated, slowly but surely lowering the flame, dropping the lighter to the floor as you drew in frantic, uneven breaths. With one hand clutching his ribs, which were likely bruised after that altercation, Tomura pushed himself to his feet and came over to stand before you, saying something to you quiet enough that Dabi couldn’t hear. But you handed Tomura back the envelope and that’s all that really mattered in the end, right?

“Let’s just get out of here,” Tomura spoke louder now, turning to address Dabi as well. “It’s a long walk back into the city.”

And with that, the three of you left the odd maze of Spinner’s contraband castle and headed back down the long stretch of abandoned highway that you’d come, the sun already beginning to sink towards the horizon before you were halfway home.

***

All three of you were exhausted, mentally and physically, and exchanged minimal conversation throughout your trek back towards civilization before Dabi just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Does he know?” he asked, nodding his head from you to Tomura.

“Know what?” you asked, though you already had a pretty good idea about what he was alluding to.

“Oh, so he doesn’t know…”

“He does know,” you sighed, exasperated. Meanwhile, Tomura just made sure the envelope of cash was kept out of Dabi’s reach.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Dabi then asked Tomura directly, nudging him a little and causing him to flinch away. 

“Cut it out, man,” Tomura rasped, a slight grimace flashing across his features before fatigue reclaimed them.

“Whatever…” Dabi rolled his eyes, a certain mischievous lilt to his tone, edging Tomura on and grasping at straws to find any reason to cause a rift between you two. “I just know that if I was gonna fuck some random girl, I’d wanna know whether I was stickin’ my dick in a murderer or n—”

Again, Tomura moved unexpectedly fast, a cloud of dust kicked up from under his beat up red converse as he whirled on Dabi, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, spit flecked through gritted teeth as he puffed out a vicious breath.

Dabi raised his hands as if surrendering, yet still had the gall to say, “Hey, I’m just lookin’ out for ya. Your funeral, buddy. Though, maybe you’d like that.”

“Tomura, he’s not worth it…” you nearly whispered, too tired to burst out in fury like you had before. You placed a hand on Tomura’s back and pulled him from his blinding rage, slowly retracting to melt back into your gentle, understanding touch. “Please… Let’s just go home.”

You and Tomura each had an arm wrapped around one other, walking with slightly staggering steps as you guided him away and further down the road. 

“Yeah…” Dabi scoffed to himself, clenching his fists at the sight of you two huddled together again. “Let’s go home.”

***

It took another two hours until the skyline of the city that had damned all three of you came into sight, another sixty painful minutes ticking by before you actually set foot back in the territory. And you should’ve known by now, especially in Dabi’s company, that you were never really home free.

Because the moment you thought you could breathe easy and part ways, enjoy the remainder of the stroll back to your apartment with Tomura to count your cash and make a plan, Dabi ran into an old friend.

Or rather, an old friend ran into Dabi.

“Pretty fuckin’ brave of you to show your face around here again!” a rough voice called from behind, causing all three of you to turn in unison, six eyes gone wide and bearing different breeds of fear.

“Shit,” Dabi hissed under his breath, pushing you two along and tacking on an urgent, “We gotta go. Now.”

“Not so fast, hot shot,” another big, burly, tattoo-covered man chuckled as he stepped out of the nearest alley, blocking your path with a crowbar in hand. “It’s time to pay up, Dabi.”

You and Tomura braced yourselves, scanning the group of men that were circling around you for any gaps big enough to slip through and make an escape. But the pack only tightened, more and more criminals emerging from the shadows armed with flashes of sharp silver or rusted iron.

“Hey, boys…” Dabi replied, trying to hide the quiver in his tone with an uncharacteristically friendly lilt. “Been a while, huh?” He was backing up towards you and Tomura, possibly trying to make a run for it himself, but there was no escape now. Not for any of you. Especially not for you, what with the hungry way the pack of men stared you down, nearly salivating at all their own disgusting thoughts.

“I sure hope you have our money,” the one who was presumably the leader of the gang went on, a smug grin plastered across his scarred face, tapping the weight of the crowbar in his palm with a steady beat. “‘Cause if ya don’t…” He swung the crowbar forward, causing all three of you to jolt as it pointed directly at Dabi. “Well, then we’re gonna have a biiiiiig problem, ain’t we?”

And he knew that Dabi didn’t have the money.

Or, at least, he normally wouldn’t have, if not for the cash he’d collected from selling the stolen car.

But still, even that wasn’t enough to pay off the entire debt and Dabi was too hell bent on securing more of his drugs before he’d even consider handing this man a single dollar.

And you and Tomura, well…

You still needed your cut.

None of you were too keen on going down without some kind of fight.

Not when you’d come this far through hell to finally catch a glimpse of the twisted heaven on the horizon.

“Yeah, well, about that…” Dabi chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head and trying to stay calm. Meanwhile, you and Tomura noticed some of the rough and tumble facade melt away, leaving only a guy who had been way in over his head from the start.

And it happened so fast. The flash of metal. A silver streak appearing and disappearing before anyone could really see what it was. But left in its wake was a slash of red and a guttural howling, the scene growing smaller and smaller behind you until you realized that someone was dragging you along by your wrist, you nearly tripping over your own feet as you glanced over your shoulder with horror, blood turning to ice.

Maybe Dabi had shouted, “Run!”

Maybe he hadn’t.

But now all three of you were high tailing it down a series of narrow alleys, Tomura’s grip on you like a vice, desperate and unrelenting. At some point, you think you were telling him he was hurting you, trying to pull away when you felt the pressure growing over your bones, thorny pangs of pain peppered over your skin. But he didn’t hear you over the surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. And even if he did, he didn’t care. He wasn’t going to let you go. Not until you were somewhere safe and warm with him and no one else.

“Fuck! Fuck!” Dabi shouted when he rounded the next corner and halted, you and Tomura nearly barreling into him as you skid to a stop and were faced with a dead end. “Uh… New plan!” He backed up, peering down the remaining stretch of straight path and seeing the silhouettes of even more enemies pop up to cage you in, a big dumpster wedged in the middle of the narrow alley slowing them down, but not for long.

Panicked, he started back down the dead end, spotting a fire escape ladder just out of reach, rushing over to jump up to try and grab hold and pull it down, but every attempt was met with no more than his fingers barely brushing against the first bar.

“What are we doing, guys?!” you shouted, your panic catching up with you as you stared down the alley and watched as your pursuers became dangerously closer by the second. Your heart was pounding, pulse beating so fast and hard that it hurt. Though, meanwhile, unbeknownst to you amongst the dread, Tomura had gone over to assist, Dabi lifting him to pull down the ladder.

You froze. Paralyzed with terror as a group of silhouettes were mere yards away. So close you could see the whites of their eyes. You’d meant to yell, to scream, anything to inform the boys that they were coming. But then that rough, scarred hand grabbed yours again and pulled you towards the ladder, practically pushing you up it even as you scrambled as fast as you could to climb.

Dabi was already at the top, extending a hand to you to pull you up to the landing.

And the only reason Tomura dared let go of you was because he thought that Dabi would just pull you up and then keep running on his own. So when the inky haired bastard locked his fist around your wrist and took off with you. Well…

Tomura saw red.

“Wait! Ow— Stop!” You tried to protest, fighting harder against his grip than you had on Tomura’s, digging your heels into the ground only to be yanked forward to nearly stumble over the next flight of stairs. You looked behind you for Tomura, not even having time to make sure he’d made it up the ladder before you’d been taken hostage again. You called his name, hoping— praying— that he’d call back. Let you know he was ok. That he’d made it—

But there was only silence.

“STOP!” you shrieked, reaching forward with your free hand to dig your nails into Dabi’s arm, clawing viciously at his inked skin until he had no choice but to let go, a few thin rivulets of blood welling up from the pale surface.

“Jesus— What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He scolded, sapphire eyes smoldering with white hot fury beneath a deep scowl.

“Tomura—!”

“Who fucking cares?!” Dabi shouted over your cries, which were quickly turning to sobs— fat, glistening tears welling in your eyes and streaking shimmering lines down your cheeks in pairs. Your chest was heaving with shallow breaths, suffocating yourself every time you tried to draw in more air, feeling like you were going to throw up. Like you were going to pass out. Like you were going to die.

“But he—!”

“Better him than us!” Dabi cut in with a snarl, approaching you with fists clenched. You winced when he came close enough that his shadow cast over you, shielding your face with your arms as if you expected a strike. “Now, unless you want those guys to rip you apart, then I suggest you stop your fucking crying and fucking run.”

His voice was icy hot. Searing into your heart like millions of barbed fish hooks, each one connected to a line that pulled in a different direction, intending to unravel you. To massacre you.

You felt your world sway and caught yourself on the railing of the staircase, peering down over the edge at the vast drop below.

And the thought did cross your mind. To jump. To end it all. But then from the landing below came, “Keep going!”

Both you and Dabi looked at each other with varying degrees of relief and confusion before you turned to see Tomura sprinting up the staircase, out of breath but still refusing to slow down. Immediately all your dread was replaced with a vibrant joy, a beaming, yet crooked smile lighting up your face and contrasting eerily with the tears that still spilled from your eyes.

“Tomura! You—”

“The ladder!” He huffed, coming to a stop and nearly doubling over once he joined you and Dabi on the next landing. An awful wheezing sound rattled in his chest with every inhale he took, bracing his hands on his knees for a moment before finding the will to stand and finishing his sentence with, “Tried to pull it up but it got stuck halfway… They’re probably… On their way…”

“Like I said—!” Dabi snapped, getting ready to run again. “We gotta go. Now.”

So the three of you took off— together this time— the top of the building but a landing away now, though you could hear the frantic clattering of heavy footsteps not far below.

“What happens once we get to the roof?” You called to Dabi, who was already on the final ladder.

“Just trust me!” he shouted back, extending a hand once again to pull you up, though you were careful not to hold on too tightly after what had just happened moments ago.

As Tomura climbed the ladder, he muttered to himself, “I don’t like those odds…”

But once you were on the roof, Dabi seemed to know the terrain better than he did on the ground. Because, up here, you could see the entire city laid out before you. All the narrow, intertwining streets appeared like an elaborate maze with the heart of the district shimmering like a mirage in the summer heat far, far in the distance.

“We’ll head towards the shopping district and lose ‘em there,” Dabi explained as you and Tomura followed behind him in a line, treading much more carefully than your surefooted, tattooed friend so as to avoid a deadly fall. “My place isn’t far. We’ll hide out there for a while till we can make sure the streets are clear.”

“Won’t they know where to find you?” you asked, nearly rolling your eyes as such an obvious flaw in his plan. “I mean, you can’t be telling me that these guys don’t know where you live.”

Dabi smirked to himself, eyes trained on where his next step would land upon the roof to avoid any loose shingles as he replied with an overconfident, “Well, that’s just one of the perks of this lifestyle, sweetheart. Anywhere can be your home when you don’t really have one of your own.”

You scoffed at his arrogance, not exactly finding it very funny to be making jokes at a time like this, but ultimately you let it go. It was a bridge you’d cross when you came to it, so long as you could get to the other end of the slanted path you were currently on.

But Dabi wasn’t joking.

He had a place. Several, in fact. A hideout in every corner of the outskirts. And every time one of them was discovered or raided, he’d just count his losses, retrieve what little he could, and forge a new hole to call home until the process inevitably repeated.

It was how he’d survived this long. How he’d evaded his enemies just long enough to extend his deadline or wrack up an even bigger debt.

Lucky for you, though, he was taking you back to his favorite hideout. It could almost pass for an actual place someone might be able to call home. Almost.

“Hey, I think we lost ‘em…” Tomura eventually remarked as you’d changed to your third rooftop, standing still and staring over the scenery behind you. Lo and behold, your pursuers were nowhere to be seen.

Dabi stopped to listen in, the whistling from a strong gust of wind the only sound to be heard up here other than the muffled traffic drifting over from a few streets down. “Yeah…” Dabi muttered, then clearing his throat to speak loud enough for you both to hear, “Yeah, I think we lost ‘em. C’mon. Let’s go.”

A few more unstable rooftops and several flights of rusted fire escape staircases later and the three of you were back on solid ground. And it was sort of strange, unexpectedly, being back among the maze of buildings and alleys after experiencing the view of the city from so high up. You felt so much smaller than you had before, gazing up through the gaps in the architecture at the sliver of sky which had just expanded all around you, painting over the muted greys and browns of your world with a serene shade of blue.

“Hey, c’mon…” Tomura urged quietly, taking your hand in his once more, though much more gently this time, and guiding you to follow after him, careful not to press into the bruises that were already beginning to blossom on your wrist from the abuse between him and Dabi forcing you along. “We gotta go.”

But you just wanted to stay and stare up at the sky, unable to shake the feeling that perhaps that was the first time you’d ever truly seen it— a sprawling revelation expanding around you after you’d just been fearing for your life, the city never that quiet, never that still, the heat of summer not so stifling when there was so much fresh air swirling around you.

But your feet carried you after Tomura, drifting closer to where Dabi was checking to make sure the coast was clear from the opening in the alley that would merge back onto the main streets, waving you two forward in a wordless announcement that it was safe.

“Just a few more blocks,” Dabi sighed, careful cerulean gaze scanning the narrow horizon like prey expecting to find a predator lurking among the telephone poles and parked cars. But then he looked at you, noticed the tranquil daze that had overtaken your features, and asked with a skeptical squint, “You holdin’ up ok?”

It took a second for you to realize he was talking to you, snapping out of your daydream and becoming more alert as you looked up at him and replied with a shaky, “Y-yeah… I’m fine,” as you melted back into Tomura’s side.

And Dabi wished that Tomura wouldn’t have made it past the first ladder. That he’d been caught by those thugs and pulled down, beaten to death and left to suffer on the grimey concrete. Because then maybe he could be the one whose hand you were holding. Whose chest you were starting to lean against. He could take you the rest of the way to his little hole in the wall apartment and get you something to drink, sling an arm around you and pull you close until you stopped trembling and he’d convinced you that no one— not the cops or any backstreet criminals— was going to take you from him.

But the bastard who’d tried to kill himself by stepping in front of the car was the one who currently protected your heart, the one who was allowed to touch you and whisper how it isn’t much further, we’ll be there soon.

Dabi cursed himself for the man he’d been twenty-four hours ago. The man who was so hardened from this life that he’d fallen into that he was no longer able to recognize something that was good before he scorned it, scorched it, ruined it with harsh words and biting remarks.

Deep down, though…

Deep down he stoked the embers of hope in the hearth of his heart. Hope that maybe, if you could just get through this, he could convince you to be his.

“It’s right this way,” Dabi informed the two of you as you rounded the next corner, this street wider than most of the others you’d traveled down yet entirely abandoned. Only some littered newspaper scraps or empty cardboard boxes blown astray from overflowing dumpsters scuttling along the street when a breeze blew by.

“Where even are we?” you asked as you continued to survey the place, surprised not to find even a single parked car, taxi, moped, anything in sight.

“It’s better if you don’t know, actually,” Dabi mumbled, fishing a set of keys out of one of his pockets and flipping through them until he found the correct one. 

It was only then, just as he swung open a heavy metal door and held it as if wanting you to enter first that it occurred to you. Such a chilling, stomach turning realization.

You stopped short halfway through your next step, giving Tomura’s hand a slight squeeze in warning like you had in the car on the way to Spinner’s.

What if this was a trap?

What if Dabi was planning on killing the two of you and claiming your shares of the cash for himself?

It wouldn’t be hard to do. Not once he shut that door behind you— one that might only open one way, for all you knew— and guided you further into an unfamiliar building. He’d been so quick with that switchblade before. Only, this time, instead of slashing an eye it would be you and Tomura’s throats.

“What’s the matter?” Tomura inquired with a concerned mutter, leaning down a little to keep the conversation private.

But then Dabi called over with an impatient, “Hurry it up! Can’t be out in the open for too long!”

You just shook your head, shuffling back a half step while your eyes remained stuck on Dabi holding open the door.

“C’mon, it’s ok. We’re fine now,” Tomura tried to urge you, gently tugging you along until you caved and your feet stumbled forward, heartbeat hammering as you squeezed Tomura’s hand even tighter. He could feel your entire body shaking, but he figured that was more from the trauma of the recent events than the possible fear of being murdered by the third member of your unlikely trio.

Once you were inside, the door shutting behind you with a high pitched creak whining from its rusted hinges, you were engulfed in complete darkness for longer than you were comfortable with, paranoia lacing through your veins with a jittery shiver until Dabi flicked on a light switch and the place was set ablaze with vivid blue— graffied flames painted along the floors and walls that glowed under the blacklight. 

“It’s not much but…” Dabi shrugged. “They won’t find us here.”

And just like that, your mood flipped. You were in awe for the second time that day, unable to believe the sight before you was one that belonged to your usually bleak reality. 

“Did you…” you breathed out with a sigh, a fresh wave of calm overtaking you as you and Tomura followed Dabi down the long hallway. “Did you do all this?”

Dabi hummed out a short chuckle. “Yeah, well, sometimes I find myself having to hide out for a little longer than usual, so…”

Beyond the tunnel of blue flames, behind the only door located in the expansive corridor, was a single floor, several makeshift walls and barriers constructed from cardboard boxes or mismatched, patchwork pieces of plastic creating little rooms among the warehouse-like expanse. The walls of this place were also decorated with the glowing blue flames, the inferno that ignited along the hall growing into a raging wildfire with some red accents for contrast.

Dabi flipped on the main lights and the art disappeared, plain concrete walls swallowing the fiery blaze and bathing the hideout in bright fluorescence, some of the lamps flickering every once in a while to remind you that this place was not a magical fantasyland, but a dilapidated, definitely not up to safety code concrete box that you could very well be calling home for the foreseeable future.

“You can take your shoes off,” Dabi began, already heading towards one of the little sectioned off rooms, “Or don’t. I don’t care. Sit wherever. Whatever.” Then, from the room that was most likely his makeshift kitchen, he called out, “Hey, either of you want a drink?!”

For a moment, you’d forgotten Tomura was even there, his hand locked with yours just feeling like second nature at this point. So when he called back, “Some water might be nice!” you nearly jolted at the sudden voice. He then guided you over to the tiny, scuffed up couch and sat beside you, searching your face— your eyes— for something.

“Hey…” he muttered, brushing some of your disheveled hair away from your sweat streaked face, eyes still a little puffy from crying on the fire escape. “You ok…?”

You started crying again, slowly at first, then sobbing uncontrollably as you buried your face into his shoulder, your wailing muffled by the flimsy fabric of his shirt. He pulled you in closer, protectively, as Dabi re-entered the main area carrying two bottles of water and one can of beer, stride only stuttering a fraction when he witnessed your current state, the way you were clinging to Tomura for dear life again, as if he was the only thing in this world holding you together.

His grip around the beer can tightened, pressing a few small dents into the aluminum. 

“What’s wrong with ‘er now?” he asked, words coated in thick— yet forced— derision, rolling his eyes and tossing Tomura one of the water bottles before jumping over the back of the couch and landing on the thin cushions next to you, keeping a bit of a distance even if that wasn’t necessarily what he wanted to do right now.

Tomura unscrewed the cap of the water bottle, trying to coax you to catch your breath and take a sip as he rubbed a hand up and down your back. But you wouldn’t lift your head from his shoulder, only nuzzling into his body deeper.

Both Tomura and Dabi exchanged unsure glances, neither exactly sure what to do right now, that is, until they heard your sobs turn into laughter— a cold, cruel chuckle that hiccuped in your chest every time a lingering sob pried its way past your lungs.

When you finally pulled your face from its hiding place among Tomura’s person, your head flopped back and you slumped into the couch. You looked sort of terrifying— teeth bared in a too wide smile as your body shook from soundless amusement, tears continuing to stream down your face and collect under your chin before dripping down onto your shirt.

“Bitch is fuckin’ crazy…” Dabi mumbled under his breath as he raised the beer can to his lips, though he jumped when a particularly loud burst of laughter tore through your throat. Then he couldn’t take his eyes off you, usually half-lidded and unbothered stare going wide enough to rival Tomura’s as he sat there frozen and unblinking, beer can still lifted to his lips yet he didn’t dare take a single sip.

And Tomura, well…

Tomura knew the feeling.

“I just can’t believe…” you barely were able to get the words out, battling between the incessant urge to cry and laugh at the same time, chest beginning to burn from the lack of oxygen in your delirious and hysterical state. “I just can’t believe that we’re alive… We’re alive…”

Tomura swallowed hard, gulped down the past few hours and hoped the monster drowned in his stomach acid before it gained enough strength to crawl back up his throat. He uttered your name— a nervous, unsure set of syllables that felt wrong in his mouth, sounded wrong to your ears. But then Dabi started laughing, his sounding low and rough and downright sinful at the realization that, yes, you’d all made it back alive.

And there was still twenty thousand dollars to split between you. Six thousand each.

“Y’know what,” Dabi said, leaning forward and setting his beer down on the busted and scratched coffee table in front of the couch. “I think the three of us make a pretty alright team.” Both you and Tomura’s gazes snapped his way, your laughter slowly fading until even the smile was wiped from your face.

Finally, Tomura said, “We almost died back there.”

“Well then maybe you should be thanking me,” Dabi responded with a hint of cruelty mixed into his tone, still holding on tight to the grudge against the silver-haired boy for stepping in front of his stolen car. Though, at this point, it really wasn’t even about that anymore, was it?

“What do you mean team?” you then cut in, feeling the tension between the two of them growing and hoping to defuse the situation before it erupted again. Even so, some sarcasm couldn’t help but shine through your words, one of your eyebrows quirked up in some kind of dramatic confusion. “The way I remember it, you wanted to leave us for dead on more than one occasion.”

“Look, I’m not used to workin’ with other people, alright?” Dabi shot back, clearly feeling cornered now, both you and Tomura setting distrusting stares upon his inked skin and sapphire eyes. “So, sorry if things didn’t always go off without a hitch—” He leaned forward, tightening the huddle between you three. “But what I’m tryna say is…”

Dabi took a moment to search your eyes, studying them, memorizing their color and the way they looked in the light versus the dark. Then he shifted his gaze to Tomura, who’s bright scarlet was far less alluring. Dabi didn’t know what you saw in him— saw in his dry, cracked, scarred skin and all that shaggy silver hair that fell into his eyes. Because all Dabi saw was someone not worth the trouble. Someone who would bury him— bury the both of you— along with himself if he got the right chance.

Perhaps Tomura was a risk in all of this.

Perhaps Dabi would live to regret trusting him.

But Dabi knew that if he wanted you— and he most certainly did want you— then Tomura was going to have to be the stray that tagged along. At least, until he could think of a better way to get rid of him…

“What I’m tryna say is that I think the three of us could pull off some pretty decent jobs,” Dabi finally concluded.

You narrowed your eyes at him, thinking if you traced over the lines of his tattoos or dared to submerge yourself into the blue of his stare for long enough you’d figure out what angle he was working, what catch would be tacked on to the end of such an offer. Though, in your hesitation, Tomura seemed to have put some of the scattered pieces to this puzzle he could gather together in his own head. He held his stare with Dabi and asked, that raspy, dangerous darkness overtaking his tone as he lowered his voice and asked, “Like what?”

And that was it.

From that moment on, you were in, all three of you leaning in closer and closer to each other as Dabi detailed some robberies he’d been trying to plan— robberies that required more than one person who knew the streets like he did and would have each other’s backs if things took a turn— elaborating on the fact that they were mostly on his enemies, guys who’d either wronged him in the past or would in the very near future if someone didn’t remind them they weren’t untouchable.

“But that’s just the warm up,” Dabi smirked, wearing that arrogant grin as he gave a half shrug, rolling his eyes a bit as if to say, child’s play. “I say we test out just how well we work together on these guys, then move onto something a little less pedestrian and more, say… Corporate.”

You thought of your view standing upon those rooftops, the heart of the city that you’d been cast out of so long ago shimmering in the distant summer heat. Close enough to dream of but still too far away to touch.

Dabi chuckled to himself then, posing the question, “I mean, what do we really have to lose?”

You’d wondered that for a while now.

Maybe it was about time you found out.

For the remainder of the night, the three of you tunneled deeper and deeper into Dabi’s plans, exploring every nook and cranny of the scheme until you felt like enough of the holes had been filled and openings in the fences patched up. By the time the hands on the clock were beginning to run into the early hours of the next morning, your eyelids were growing too heavy for you to fight against anymore. 

You were exhausted and both the boys saw it.

So Tomura took the envelope out of his pocket, counted out each of your shares, Dabi counting his twice just to make sure, and thus the alliance was set. After that, you guys called it quits for the day, got some rest and allowed yourselves to recharge before the first act of your ambitious new activities would commence. And as you fell asleep curled up close to Tomura on that narrow couch, half of your body draped over him and finding comfort in the slow rise and fall of his chest, Dabi’s words kept repeating in your head over and over, an endless, overlapping echo of, “What do we really have to lose?”

You found the answer just before slipping unconscious, you think, though by the time you’d wake up tomorrow you’d forget it.

What do we have to lose? Well, the only thing that’s really ever been ours to begin with.

Our lives.

***

(Hello and thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Please do check out the MV this fic is based on if you get the chance, it’s one I’ve loved since it came out all the way back in 2017, though perhaps you ought to wait until the fic is finished since it’s likely you’ll be able to predict some spoilers haha.

Anyway, future chapters will feature more of the Dabi x Reader side of things so for those of you who prefer Dabi please be patient with me! There’s actually a scene that’s been in my head for a while that I’m really looking forward to writing when the time comes.

I originally planned to write this fic in three parts but given how much more involved it became the more I developed it, now it's likely going to end up being somewhere between five and ten depending. I'll probably end up breaking up the original "three parts" into slightly shorter (though still lengthy) chapters so I'm able to post updates more consistently throughout this year rather than only be able to put out one huge chapter every few years.

Anyway, I really appreciate everyone’s patience and hope that you look forward to the next chapter. With that being said, I’ll see you soon!

Byyyyye~)

[togglesbloggle]

I get nightmares, sometimes.

I know specifically where they come from. Second grade. My elementary school would gather kids up in the cafeteria and read some short-ish book to a large-ish crowd. I don't know why they did it that way instead of the classroom; it might have been some kind of after-school activity instead of during normal hours. The circumstances are pretty vague to me, this long after the fact.

I don't remember the title of this particular story either, or any of the names of the characters, most of it's long since lost in the fog. I was probably a bit bored for most of the reading. The book was a pretty generic little thing, until it wasn't. There was this caterpillar, it wanted to be a butterfly, a convenient and kid-friendly shorthand for overcoming obstacles to self-actualization through friendship and wisdom. One of the more common allegories out there.

But anyway, what made it weird was, the author decided that the catharsis of becoming a butterfly was a bit too straightforward to carry the climax of the story all on its own. So instead, most of the other bugs- the ones, I have to assume, that represented the forces of conformity and social pressure, or whatever- all became envious of the butterfly's ability to reach the sky (or sun?). When they saw the beautiful butterfly soaring through the air, in a rage they all started climbing on top of one another, and forming a big teeming pile of bugs, each one trying to get just a little bit higher, demanding to touch the sky just like the butterfly did. It became a giant, squirming mass, larger and larger until the inevitable occurred, the bugs at the bottom of this horrific mass were crushed, and the entire thing collapsed to its inevitable doom. The butterfly, armed with wings of its own, flew onward to the sky.

It's a little hard to pinpoint exactly what these nightmares are about, in a symbolic sense. They're about the anxieties of social conformity and peer pressure, certainly; my recurring fears of being molded by the community around me in to compliant and useful forms without consideration for my own happiness. But they're also about hierarchies and the meaning of social power, and even about conformist pressures in epistemic and ontological frames. It sort of slips from one analogy to another, untethered. It's a basal, animal fear that gets carried forward to many walks of life, both practical and philosophical, one that takes the particular form it does just because that story happened to be the first thing to hit this fault-line of mine at the right angle and crystalize my fears in to something I could understand.

On those nights when I find myself trapped in that pile, buried under the weight of hundreds of bodies, forced to crush the victims below me and claw my way through the airless, squirming heat and death of it all, the analogies don't really matter so much. Sometimes the beings around me are humans, sometimes they're all bugs, sometimes I am too, but always it's just about the simple, awful terror of living in that world of flesh. Things that might once have been fellow-travelers, trapped underneath and above and on every side with no room to move. When the agonizing pressure bearing down on you drives through your body without interruption, and you become an instrument that empowers and transmits that same violence to the animals that you're crawling over, with no relief from the pain except to drag somebody down from above you and get just a bit higher. Suffocating, always suffocating, gasping hot breaths where nothing's left to breathe.

But it is very potent grist for any number of metaphors, that's why I keep dreaming the damned thing. And it's not at all uncommon to be moving through my normal, waking life and find myself in circumstances that trigger this fear. I can always feel it coming on with that vague sense of suffocation, usually even before I understand consciously that I've found myself in one of those situations.

Being in the crowd at a sports stadium will usually get me pretty bad, of course. Driving in traffic does it sometimes, a little. But the merely physical crowds are pretty tolerable in the short term. Being at a protest or political rally is much worse; chanting with a crowd is more likely to trigger these nightmares than just cheering with one, because chants are semantic. More buy-in, you see? You have to conform with your ideas as well as your body.

It's there in more abstract ways as well. If I'm in a chat group or social community that brings in an applause light (or shared enemy) that is meant to unify everybody and create a sense of shared identity using public consensus, it can get a little hard to breathe; I sometimes have to go hide in a private room during dinner parties, when they go in the wrong direction. I've avoided employment in big, mission-statement-y corporations my whole life, for much the same reason.

I know that there are people who find a great deal of joy and meaning in this stuff, in being a part of social movements and organizations larger than themselves. I don't mean to say anything objective about such preferences, this isn't even really about my considered opinions so much as the animal parts of me. But man, the animal in me is so frightened sometimes. So much of our world seems to be made of these ziggurats of flesh, teeming piles of human life all trying to reach for something divine by crushing the souls below.

I have, I think, mostly avoided the worst failure states of contrarianism; better not to let the crows dictate my opinions at all, even by inversion. And actually I do better living in large cities than you might expect. Modern city life is 'dense' in the sense that you're often near a few people at a time, but not often to the point of actually restricting movement. Merely having a loud upstairs neighbor doesn't trigger my phobias at all, and it's usually pretty trivial to have basic personal space; I suppose I might struggle in places like Manhattan or Tokyo, though. It's a marked part of my life, but not a disabling one.

And like I said, this isn't a philosophical or a moral stance per se, though it's clearly part of the 'state of nature' that's upstream of my ideological commitments. Mostly, I'm writing this out because I think a lot of people tend to be annoyed by the kind of separatism I reach for reflexively, and treat it like a threat or a form of dissent. Which I guess it sort of is; I and people like me are pretty bad at forming coalitions and doing that kind of important work in the polis. But still, I'm hoping that my nightmares can do a little bit of good on that front, by providing vivid and terrible imagery to help others understand subjectively what it's like instead of just rounding it off to an easy-to-dismiss "Reddit bro" or whatever Type Of Guy is common parlance on the internet at the time.

And I guess, also, I'd like to help communicate something of the beauty of the alternative- of being the butterfly, I mean. And to the extent that it's possible, to communicate the urgency that I feel in chasing tools and institutional patterns that can help people to build their own wings and fly through the open air. There are things that help us rise under our own power as individuals, without victims. Curiosity, creativity, patience, mutual appreciation; so many kinds of strength that don't demand sacrifices. And the greatest of these, I think, is the pursuit of truth, and the sincere desire to understand the structure and consistency of the world around us.

Failing all else, during this election season please have a little patience for those of us who fall silent or slip away instead of lending our voices to the chanting of the crowds, or who seem to care more about picking apart ideas instead of organizing around them, or who otherwise never seem to miss an opportunity to make ourselves the odd one out. There's power in numbers, and this is a moment when power is desperately needed; but I don't think you can touch the sky that way. The higher goals, the things that will allow us to transcend our present difficulties outright and to achieve something really great, are too far away and too alien to reach merely by stacking bodies or echoing the doctrines of the present. Hope comes as a stranger, and we need hope right now for the same reasons that we need power.

[steviewashere]

Nineteen and Learning How to Live

(also on ao3, rated M for below content warnings)

CW: Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Referenced Suicide Attempt, Please Read With Caution (Nothing Graphic, But Still)

wc: 1,996, Steddie and Platonic Stobin Tags: Post Vecna, Post Canon, Post Season 4, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, A bit Dialogue Heavy, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, and so are Eddie and Robin, Steve Harrington-Centric

(This is entirely indulgent for myself. Based on a real experience, so please be kind. But I wanted to share this anyway because it feels important, y'know?)

-------- It’s the week before the 23rd of December, 1986. And both Robin and Eddie have noticed an odd shift in Steve’s demeanor. He’s gone from happy-go-lucky to sort of shut-in and quiet. Hushed behind his own hands. Dimmer and more tired in the eyes. Pallor, now that the winter weather has finally reached Indiana. Snowed in and bundled up. Barely answering the phone. Picking at his food or overeating, there’s no good in between for him. 

And, the real kicker, there’s no way for them to truly understand what’s happening.

They aren’t sure if this is all some everlasting effect from the Upside Down. From venturing into Vecna’s lair. Or the residuals of his high school days. There’s no rhyme or reason to it at all. And he won’t talk. Dodges questions. Sighing or huffing or—sometimes—growling. Like the words get stuck in his throat, begrudging his conversation, all together silencing whatever he wanted to say.

So they’ve learned to stop asking about it. They’ve learned to let him have his space. To let him shroud himself in the darkness of his bedroom, underneath a blanket that hasn’t been washed in a couple months, with a rat’s nest on his head, and cold to the touch skin that is always dotted in meticulous goosebumps—but he refuses to grow warmer.

They thought it was seasonal. At first, they thought it was seasonal.

Because people grow withdrawn when the sun disappears. Or when the sun sets earlier than you’re anticipating. That’s just a reasonable response. Robin and Eddie are able to understand that.

But they grow to realize that it’s not. It’s in waves. It’s during the summer and under a pollen filled spring sky and under the browning leaves of oak trees. It happens when they make jokes about touching death, intimately and cautiously. Or if they suggest hanging out at the quarry, sitting at the edge, looking out across the water, watching as the stars twinkle above them. Or when they look down at the water…Steve instinctively reaches out to stop them from bending forward. And he never lets them use his car to take them out there.

And he refuses to talk about it.

And so a week passes. And they’re two days away from Christmas. And he is getting stir crazy. Becoming restless. Growing uncomfortable.

He asks to go on multiple drives. He asks for the window to be rolled down so that the cold breeze brushes back his hair and tickles his face. He asks for them to be honest with him, “Am I a better person? I’m okay, right?”

They think it’s silly and it’s foolish and off putting. But they answer, truthfully, down to the very core of their souls as beings, “Yes, Steve. Yes, you are.” And he breathes out something like relief, growing lighter, brighter, easier.

But he keeps asking. And it’s every hour. And they’re all growing restless.

However, right before 11PM on the 23rd, Steve asks that they go out to the quarry. With no alcohol or weed or cigarettes. With a couple baggies of pretzel sticks and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. To look at the stars and see what the water is doing.

Eddie drives because Robin hasn’t learned yet and Steve is still hesitant about taking his own car. They wear big puffer jackets and mittens and heavy-duty snow boots and beanies that threaten to swallow their face. He’s the first one out. The last one to sit. And the first to break the silence.

Steve dangles his legs over the edge. His hands pressed tightly together between his thighs. Heaves a breath. And darts his eyes over the horizon line. Quietly, “Tonight’s important.” He’s sitting between Eddie and Robin. Looks at them for a mere second. “An anniversary, I guess.”

They hum.

Eddie chuckles. “I didn’t forget our anniversary, did I? Is it six months already?”

He shakes his head. “No,” he breathes, “but it’s important.”

“What’s important about tonight?” Robin asks.

“Just wait a bit,” Steve ominously says. “I don’t want to talk for a while.”

So they go back to silence. Not comfortable. Not uncomfortable. Somewhere between stagnant and anxious. With the weight of patient waiting and impatient questions. A taste of something solemn, yet something lively and meaningful.

They hold hands now. Robin’s mittens are blue with snowflakes dotted across the wool, tightened at her wrist. Eddie’s are black with red stripes, a hole at the tip of his left thumb. And Steve’s are a neutral grey—they’re still starchy and stiff, apparently new and never worn. His thumbs rub circles over the backs of Eddie and Robin’s hands. And he sighs reverently amongst them. And he’s smiling softly, almost proud, not far away, but rather present in the moment.

It’s silent. Though, the water ripples below them like a leaky faucet dripping into the still fill of a bathtub. Trees rustling around and overhead. Wind clipping at their cheeks, tinting their noses a dull and subtle pink. 

Eventually, Steve lets go. He lays his left hand over his thigh. The other hand digging around for something in one of the deep pockets of his jacket. And what he does produce is a small pocket knife. It glints in the minuscule amount of light surrounding them. The handle worn down from being held so many times. He’s looking down at it. Bouncing it in his grip, testing the weight, they assume. And his eyes dim the slightest, but not fading completely. His teeth chew at his bottom lip.

Robin wants to ask why he has that. Eddie wants to reach out and take it from him. They both move to do so, their hands creeping hesitantly towards Steve’s. But he shakes his head, minutely and trembling. His breath leaves him in a small, quaking huff. He swallows as if consuming a baseball.

“I used to—“ His voice cracks. Clears his throat. “I used to use this when I shotgunned beers back in high school,” he admits quietly. “When life was normal. And my parents constantly argued and I needed something to help me silence it all.”

Steve pulls his legs up, bending them so that his chin rests on his knees. Arms wrapping around them, the knife still in his grip, but not unfolded. “And then, 1983 happened. 1984. And I graduated in 1985.” His lips rub against his jeans. Closes his eyes. “Met you, Robin.” He turns his head towards her, but doesn’t stare. Doesn’t look. Doesn’t let her own eyes acknowledge him. “Thought that maybe my life was just going to be food service and people who couldn’t stand me. Which, I’d get, y’know?

“But the bad shit kept happening. And then we were working at Family Video. And I was losing my parents approval at an even faster rate, especially since college season was finally starting up. I was getting sidelined. Couldn’t find anybody to date me. I shouldn’t have felt so dejected about that, since I had just turned nineteen and the world doesn’t end when you’re nineteen, but.” His next sigh is forlorn. “But my world was small. And nothing was changing. And I was just…I was just the same person I’d always been.”

They scoot closer to him. The air is heavier. This is it, Robin thinks. The answer, Eddie knows.

“I wanted to be different. I wanted to be better. Good. Whatever,” Steve says. “But it just wasn’t happening. I couldn’t figure out why. I couldn’t understand why I was bothersome to my own family or why I was getting shoved off by Dustin or why nobody wanted me, romantically, platonically. It just didn’t make sense. And the confusion kept growing. Until I was—Until I could only be bitter and hateful and…sad about it.

“I just grew sad.”

He opens his eyes and looks out at the water again. His legs falling away so that he’s sitting criss-cross. And both of his hands hold the knife. Still folded.

“December of 1985 came. My parents weren’t coming home for Christmas. Everybody was busy. I was alone.” Steve sniffs. “I was alone in my house. With nowhere to go or anybody to really talk to. And I was alone with my thoughts. And I was going crazy with the need to do something. So I grabbed some essentials.

“Wallet. Keys. Light jacket. Beanie. This knife.” He holds it up. Staring. “Drove until I grew tired of being on the road. Led me out here.” He exhales a large breath. “I was alone. So I—I began to think about doing stupid things. Stupid selfish things, that’s what it felt like. One moment I was sitting in the driver’s seat of my car. The next, I was standing right where I’m sitting, knife unfolded, no mittens on my hands. Praying. Hoping that it would be quick and I wouldn’t be found.”

Robin knows she gasps something. Not a word. Not a breath. Some wrecked, terrible sound. Something like surprise and complete understanding. Something like hideous sympathy. Eddie holds his breath.

“But when I had it angled to…y’know…I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t know why. I still barely know. Yet, when I listened in on the silence around me, I realized it wasn’t quiet. There was a weird sound coming from my car. Like a—a static? I thought it was my radio. It began to annoy me,” he iterates. “I stomped over, bent down, and leaned my head into the driver’s side. And that’s when I saw it. One of the walkie-talkies. It was…It was Max asking for somebody to listen to her talk, she had a nightmare, she was scared, she was alone. 

“And…I may not be a good person. I may not be a better person. But I know I’m some weird fucking babysitter. And I knew that I would do anything for any of them. That’s when I thought, too, what if it had been Robin? What if it was Dustin or Nancy or even Jonathan that I was speaking to? I couldn’t…There’s no way I’d be settled leaving everybody the way I wanted to, knowing what I know and hearing what I heard in Max’s terrified voice.” He shakes his head, swallows again, and looks over at Eddie.

“And what if I couldn’t be there during Vecna? Who would’ve gone under the water? Who would’ve pulled you out of the mess of dead bats? Who would’ve held Dustin during the hours of surgery you had to go through? Who would’ve been there to tell Max she did a good job or that you did a good job? To listen to your music and your campaigns? Who would've agreed with you when Dustin is being a little shit?” He looks back at Robin now. “Who would’ve been there to hear about your crushes and your terrible double VHS tapes and your rambles about god knows what day to day? Who would’ve loved the both of you the way I love you?”

He tightens his grip on that tiny knife. Gazes at the water.

“I know that I don’t make a lot of good choices. I know that I say things that sound too bitchy to be teasing sometimes. I know that there’s still a lot inside of me that I need to make up for. But I’m alive and I’ve survived and I have some of the best people in my corner. I’d be a fool to give all of this up. So…that’s why tonight is special.

“Because I’m alive.”

Steve raises his arm, the knife over his shoulder, and chucks it down over the side of the quarry. He fills his palms with Eddie’s and Robin’s. And he relaxes.

“And you’ve got so much life to live,” Eddie says.

And Robin can’t help but think that he’s right because, The world didn’t end when you were nineteen.

-------- <3

[starryeyedjanai]

what lurks beneath

kinktober prompt: double penetration in two holes lake monster eddie fic | explicit | 6k happy birthday @matchingbatbites!! 🥳

He's been dragged beneath the surface of the water once before.

Hanging out with his friends their first night back here, he felt something slither around his ankle and pull. He struggled under the water for a few moments before it let go and he swam back up.

It was pretty dark out, so he couldn't see anything under the water when he looked beneath him.

He'd been freaked out, but no one had seen anything or felt anything except for him. They thought he was making it up at first, but when he refused to get back in the water for the rest of the summer, they knew he had to have felt something.

Tommy tried to tell him it was a fish or seaweed, but Steve knows what he felt.

Something pulled him under.

He won't say it out loud to the rest of them, but he's afraid of going back in. There's something deep within him that says it's not safe.

So for the rest of the summer, he watches his friends splash around in the lake from the safety of the shore or the pier, stewing on it the entire time.

Because nothing happens to any of his friends when they're in the water.

So maybe he did overreact to something normal in the lake. Maybe he felt some seaweed on his ankle and just freaked out.

He's watched his friends for months now and nothing has happened since that night.

So it had to just be in his head, right?

That's what he's telling himself as he drives up to the lake alone, late at night, determined to prove to himself that it was nothing.

read the rest on ao3

[fernsnailz]

i love reading your sonic loreposts i was wondering if you could please explain archie charmy to me, i have heard stuff and i am so curious but i am not a comics in general kinda person. the lsd poisoned friend or the brain damage literally just anything that happens to him your pick

hi anon i’m just going to go over everything that happens to archie charmy pre-reboot so i hopefully never have to talk about it after this. i'm sorry i'm so so sorry

Archie Charmy is subject to a lot of controversy and discussion because despite his limited role in the comics, he goes through some of the most batshit insane character and plot beats in the whole series (and that you’ve already mentioned). I’ll be skimming over some of the more boring parts, but the wild stuff I'll go pretty in-depth with.

I’ll also be attempting to explain WHY all of this happens to Charmy Bee of all characters, taking into account the context of the story, what was happening behind the scenes in the writer’s room, and even comic trends in general. I want to try and keep away from the very reactionary “wow archie sonic is sooooo crazy” discussion that happens around this stuff and hopefully provide a little more useful analysis. i talk about comic PSAs for a while so be warned

There are some very, very important content warnings that are coming with Archie Charmy lore: warning for non-consensual drug use and overdose (specifically LSD), child death, genocide, implied ableism, memory loss, implied age regression, breif homophobia mention (not related to charmy)

this is going to be a very long one. charmy lore under the cut

INTRODUCTION - CHAOTIX

Charmy Bee’s first appearance in Archie Sonic is in the Knuckles’ Chaotix special, which adapts the first game he appeared in. This issue introduces the entire Chaotix cast (six new characters) in a mere four pages, so Charmy doesn’t make much of an impression other than “bee who likes to explore and adventure.” He lacks that annoying little brother personality that he has in most Sonic media, and he’ll often speak with language that feels extremely out of character for the Charmy that most people know.

This is because this version of Charmy is based off of his character description from the Knuckles’ Chaotix game manual. Despite the series being based off of the video game franchise, the Archie Sonic writers were often given very little information about upcoming game releases from SEGA when they were asked to adapt them into the comics. Often they had to go digging for the canonical materials themselves - for example, the only way they were able to adapt Sonic Adventure into the comics is because Patrick Spaziante (one of the comic’s artists) had a Japanese version of the game that he bought himself. They had no English translation and zero guidance from SEGA, so they had to attempt to piece the story together without SEGA's help. This was the case with most of the game adaptations, and it was honestly a miracle that they had access to the manual for Knuckles’ Chaotix at all.

There’s just one problem: the manual for Knuckles’ Chaotix describes a version of Charmy that is very, very different from the one we know of today. It describes a 16-year old that is… sophisticated?

(sorry for the low quality, there aren't many images of the manual. also fun fact, there was no age for Charmy listed in the original Japanese manual)

Charmy's differing age and personality will lead to many, many problems, as the writers decided to give the “sophisticated�� Charmy darker stories. This brings us to the Knuckles the Echidna mini-series.

The Knuckles mini-series is. Bad. Charmy Bee is certainly there for the first few issues (as are most of the Chaotix), but he doesn’t get much focus until issue 13.

I don’t know how to put this in a way that doesn’t sound extremely blunt: This is the issue where Charmy’s best friend overdoses on LSD and dies.

PART 1 - MELLO

Charmy's best friend is named Mello Bee. This is his first and last appearance in the series.

Mello started feeling strange on their return trip from Happyland, a sketchy theme park that recently reopened under new management. Charmy isn't sure why Mello died, but Constable Reminton (essentially the sheriff of Echidnopolis) reveals that there have been a series of cases similar to Mello's - cases where people were suffering from… Lemon Sundrop Dandelion poisoning.

The Chaotix go to Happyland to see if they can find the source of the poisoning, but what they don't know is that it's actually laced into the food. The manager of Happyland, Renfield T. Rodent, has been lacing the park's chili dogs with LSD in hopes of making everyone addicted to them. However, the amount of LSD he's been putting into the food is too much for most people to handle. This is probably the most insane paragraph I've had to write for one of these loreposts

Unknown to the Chaotix, they all start eating the chili dogs during their investigation (except for Julie-Su and Knuckles, who is absent) and start tripping balls.

Continuing the story into issue 14, Charmy’s LSD trip reveals that he’s actually the prince of a bee colony and has been running away from his responsibilities as a member of the royal family.

Charmy is knocked out for the rest of this arc as he goes through his trip - they have to operate on him and some other stuff happens I guess (Julie-Su gets thrown off of a roof, Knuckles fights some guys in a desert, Vector is a misogynist, stuff like that). At the end of issue 15, Charmy learns from his trip and returns to his family, temporarily leaving the Chaotix to return to his royal duties. Mello's family and his all mourn Mello's death and bury him back at their home.

So. What was the fucking point of all that

In the long-term, Charmy returning home to his family essentially writes him out of the story for a while. Knuckles the Echidna issue 15 released in 1998, and Charmy doesn't really return until 2001. While I'm not entirely sure what the reason for this was, there were so many members of the Chaotix that I honestly think this was an okay decision.

However, there's one very important question left to answer: Why was LSD and a drug overdose included in this arc at all?

When I first read this arc, I had a burning thought that I couldn't get out of my mind:

PART 1.5 - wait is this an anti-drug PSA?

(if you want to avoid me talking in-depth about the abilities of LSD and my ramble about comic PSAs for a while, you can skip to PART 2 where I continue the Charmy lore)

Comic PSAs (Public Service Announcements) and propaganda are a fundamental part of the medium’s history, whether it be to aid their country’s war efforts, give health information to their readers, or warn kids about the dangers of drug abuse. While a comic being used as a PSA isn’t inherently a bad thing, it’s usually VERY obvious. One of the most interesting ones I've found is a PSA that features Green Lantern debunking misinformation about the AIDS crisis. The image quality isn’t great, but the comic doesn’t hold back when talking about how the AIDS crisis is spreading homophobic ideology - if you read this, you know it’s a PSA and you know what message it’s trying to send. Sometimes propaganda can be subtle, but PSAs are usually loud.

(cw: homophobia)

This is why anti-drug PSAs are so common and so remembered - they’re over the top, they’re blunt (lol), and they have a very specific message they’re trying to send. For example, there’s an issue of New Teen Titans from 1983 that introduce a character called the Protector to teach kids about drug awareness where the issue literally starts with the Teen Titans in an auditorium telling kids about a dangerous drug. This issue also includes some bad trip imagery, and it’s uh… honestly i kinda love this

Anti-drug PSAs usually don’t work for this very reason - showing how a drug affects fictional characters can increase interest in the substance, and a single superhero telling someone to stop smoking is not going to break someone’s addiction.

So. Is Knuckles the Echidna issues 13-15 an anti-drug PSA?

Probably not, but if it is it’s doing a fucking terrible job of it

Some of the main factors of a PSA are the information it's presenting, the opinion it wants the consumer to develop, and the bluntness of its presentation. While this part of the Knuckles series is certainly over the top, the rest of these factors are really muddy. First, anti-drug PSAs usually don’t create a fake drug to replace the one they’re advising against. An anti-weed campaign will just tell you that weed is bad because that’s the opinion it wants you to walk away with. So when Knuckles issue 13 introduces a substance called “Lemon Sundrop Dandelion” and never actually refers to it as LSD, it’s less of a message about “drug bad” and more just a sly nudge and wink that goes “hey you see that? yeah, that’s drug.”

Then there’s the problem that there isn’t really much of a lesson to be had from these issues regarding drug use. Yes, Mello dies horrifically of an overdose, but most of the cast is able to walk off the trip like it’s nothing. Charmy needs to be operated on, but the doctors literally treat it like it’s fucking NOTHING

he's literally talking about how he told a patient that couldn't afford surgery to go to the butcher like HUH?????

In fact, Charmy’s trip seems to help him in the long run - he’s forced to face his past, and eventually returns to his family because of the literal guilt trip he has. It’s a fundamental part of his character arc.

This isn’t to say that I wish these issues were explicitly drug PSAs - I bring all of this up because these issues were released in 1998, in an era where the anti-drug movement was arguably at its peak. The people working on these comics would KNOW its content is similar to and even promotes the anti-drug movement. While I don't consider these issues to be an anti-drug PSA, they can definitely serve as anti-drug propaganda.

With this in mind, considering Knuckles the Echidna as a form of propaganda really opens up how utterly terrible these issues are. These comics can be genuinely harmful pieces of anti-drug propaganda because the way they use LSD to advance they plot is untrue to how the drug actually works and relies entirely on fear mongering. While LSD can be laced into other substances like drinks, it probably wouldn't last long in cooked meat - LSD usually degrades at higher temperatures, and telling comic readers that they need to be afraid of LSD-laced fair food is fucking stupid and likely based on false urban legends. Not only that, but Renfield T. Rodent’s plot to addict everyone to his LSD chili dogs is also fucking stupid because LSD is not considered an addictive substance. It can be extremely dangerous at high or multiple doses, but LSD does not normally lead to compulsive use.

I don’t talk about all of this to be a cinemasins guy or to nitpick a comic from 1998, and I also don't want to imply that PSAs can't spread lies and misinformation (anti-drug PSAs famously over-exaggerate things). I bring all of this up to show an ineffective and possibly dangerous use of something that could be considered anti-drug propaganda. Spreading blatantly untrue information and placing false fears into a reader’s mind is truly incompetent on the writer’s behalf, especially considering that this comic was targeted at kids. And that’s not even mentioning that there’s barely any moral to all of this. There’s no lesson and they never talk about this again.

Do I think this was all intentional on the behalf of the writers? I have no idea. I have no goddamn idea what they were thinking with this one, and I honestly don't think much thought was put into this arc at all. Maybe this was a strange attempt to make a Sonic-themed anti-drug PSA, maybe they were just inspired by the drug PSAs of their time when writing this, or maybe they just did not care. I don't know man. Anti-drug propaganda is stupid and it doesn't work and these comics drive me crazy

alright enough of that. let's talk about genocide

PART 2 - SAFFRON

don’t worry this part will be shorter (cheering and clapping)

Like I mentioned a while back, Charmy is essentially written out of the story for a while after the Mello incident. While living in the Golden Hive Colony, he reunites with another friend, Saffron Bee. Saffron becomes Charmy’s girlfriend, and they’re together for basically the rest of the comic. Usually if Charmy shows up, Saffron is there too.

(image of Charmy and Saffron I stole from... the Shipping Wiki??)

They eventually return to help Chaos Knuckles, a green version of Knuckles who is uh. Kinda going through it. Not much important Charmy lore needs to be discussed here, but some of his actions do eventually lead to him creating a genocidal villain that will cause many problems later. Don’t worry about it.

Things are quiet for a while for Charmy and Saffron. That is, until Eggman attacks their colony and wipes out most of its population.

Charmy and Saffron are the only survivors we see from the Golden Hive Colony. Eggman transforms the colony into a new base and traps its residents in an invention of his called the Egg Grapes - basically, he puts Mobians in these little pods that sap all of their life force, powering his empire. Most people do not survive the Egg Grapes.

The two bees return to join the Chaotix for a little while, and the rest of the Chaotix confirm that the Golden Hive Colony and its residents are truly gone. Espio destroys what’s left of the colony so Eggman can’t use it as a base, and no other survivors from the colony are found.

So. yeah what the fuck

Archie Sonic is known to have a LOT of characters - I’ve talked about the sheer number of echidnas the series has before, but there are a lot of characters that have massive extended families. The arc where Mello died introduced like eight new bee characters, but most of them were background characters that didn’t need to stick around.

Most people cite writer Ian Flynn’s debut to the series as when a lot of these unneeded/background characters were written out or killed off, and I agree since one of his objectives as a writer was to tighten up the story. However, the trend of “Archie background characters getting killed off or written out” started a little bit before he joined the team. There’s the destruction of the Golden Hive, and many echidnas in this arc suffer from the horrors of war - a number die off after Charmy and Saffron rejoin the Chaotix. yeah it's kinda fucked up

This is the second major arc where Charmy has lost people close to him - first Mello, and now his entire family and kingdom. The same goes for Saffron - they only have each other left. I mean the Chaotix are also there but still, trauma is trauma

How could it get any worse?

PART 3 - CHARMY

Remember how Archie Charmy is based off of the Knuckles’ Chaotix manual? The one that said he was sophisticated and 16?

This is about to cause a few problems.

At this point, it’s around 2007. The Knuckles’ Chaotix manual is terribly outdated, and most versions of Charmy within canon are 6 year-old kids. Charmy is known to be the annoying comedic relief, which is the exact opposite from how he’s portrayed in Archie Sonic.

So when SEGA asked writer Ian Flynn to change Archie Sonic to be like his video game counterpart, the solution was uh. well. it could have been handled better

Like how he obliterated the Golden Hive Colony, Eggman’s next target to destroy is Knothole, the city where Sonic and the Freedom Fighters all live. It’s a surprise to all of the residents, and he manages to teleport most of the population into his Egg Grapes. Before Sonic can save them, Eggman singles out Charmy to be used as an example of how the Egg Grapes work.

Sonic and friends manage to get Charmy out, but not before the damage is already done. In the limited amount of time the Grape sapped his life force, Charmy’s memory was partially wiped and personality changed forever. After this, Charmy has very little memory of the Golden Hive Colony at all, only seeming to remember Saffron and his friends. His becomes much more child-like, similar to his game counterpart.

the fucking sigh i just sighed

For clarification, Charmy is still 16. The only thing that was altered was his mind, with the intention to make his personality more in-line with his goofy video game counterpart. The problem is that giving a character brain damage to turn them into a comedic relief character is fucked up and unintentionally ableist.

This is something that writer Ian Flynn identified pretty early and openly regrets (I’m not sure what the source of that statement is, I’m assuming an episode of Bumblekast but I’m don’t know which one. I’ll edit this if I find it). Because of this, he mostly kept Charmy out of any comedic situations for the rest of the series. Charmy has a very limited role in the series after this until the reboot, only appearing sporadically and in one Sonic Universe arc. When he does show up, his childish demeanor is usually met with the patience of the Chaotix and their sad expressions.

Although the intention was to make Archie Charmy more like his game counterpart, in practice I honestly think this action only made Archie Charmy even MORE distant from his game character. From the Egg Grape incident to the reboot, Archie Charmy’s trauma never leaves my mind and leaves me feeling strangely hollow.

CONCLUSION - WHAT THE FUCK

I find the Archie Sonic series unfathomably fascinating. While I love the series, I can’t deny that most of the events I went over are poorly handled by the writing team and leave the series with such a strange legacy. With Archie Sonic, it’s often incredibly easy to see the biases of the writers and how they affect the characters and stories, leading to some genuinely fucked up moments that could have easily been avoided in my opinion.

Archie Charmy was really one of the characters that got it the worst, but it's honestly so strange that all of this happened to him specifically. The fact that all of this shit happens to a silly little bee is so, so Archie Sonic to me. Charmy is such a simple character to understand - he's a funny kid who's kinda annoying and hard to handle. So when I look back and see the 3,000+ words I just wrote about Archie Charmy... fucking hell why did i do that

In conclusion. I am sorry and do not become a comics person

thanks for reading if you got this far. as always let me know if i need to tag any other content warnings or if there was anything i got wrong! alright good night tristate area